


'Only For a Little Bit'

by pushupindrag



Series: Dragon!Jaskier AU [4]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Anxiety, Creature Jaskier | Dandelion, Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Fluff, Dragon Jaskier | Dandelion, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, Hurt/Comfort, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, M/M, Masturbation, Not Canon Compliant, Panic Attacks, Post-Season/Series 01, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:20:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24617473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pushupindrag/pseuds/pushupindrag
Summary: Now rescued, Jaskier has to deal with the aftermath of his kidnapping as they travel. Through the anxiety and panic attacks, as well as his heightened draconic instincts. They possibly start to get somewhere.He makes it two weeks on the road before the anxiety and panic sets in. Really, if he didn’t feel as though he were going to die he would be proud of himself.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Dragon!Jaskier AU [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1683490
Comments: 20
Kudos: 221





	'Only For a Little Bit'

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not done with this series! There's more to come after this (possibly from Geralt's perspective!)! Thank you so much to everyone who has left kudos and comments and subscribed I am so extremely grateful and seeing every notification makes my day!
> 
> Based on the netflix show!
> 
> You only really need to read the last instalment for this to make sense!
> 
> Trigger Warnings:  
> \- Vivid description of panic and anxiety attack  
> \- Description of having lost time due to the attacks  
> \- Entire fic shows Jaskier dealing with his kidnapping
> 
> Un-beta'd so please let me know if you find any mistakes!
> 
> Come chat to me about these idiots on my tumblr [here!](https://valleyofwitcher.tumblr.com/ask) if you want!

He makes it two weeks on the road before the anxiety and panic sets in. Really, if he didn’t feel as though he were going to die he would be proud of himself.

“Fuck.” He gasps, head between his knees to stop himself from vomiting and to try to regulate his breathing. “Shit. No. No no no!”

There had been movement from above, a flap of wings he could have sworn he had heard. Strong wings, not made by a bird but something much larger. Something with sharp teeth and fire.

Vaguely, he’s aware of pressure around him, strong holds around his own arms, a weight pressing solidly into his back and movement at his front but he can’t feel much else. Can’t hear much else but his heartbeat and panicked breaths. 

Because obviously he had been wrong and they were coming for him. They would take him away, take him back and hurt him. Put him in the trophy room with the rest. How had he not seen it? Wouldn’t their best trophy be a wayward son reclaimed? 

And they’d hurt his bonded to get to him. They’d have no qualms doing it. He wouldn’t let that happen, couldn’t let that happen. He’d die before he let them hurt Geralt or Ciri. 

With that thought in mind he stands, vision swimming and breathing hard, faintly aware of something falling behind him as he frantically looks around the camp. Trying to smell them. His fucking family. He knew their scent anywhere. A sour sulphur that hadn’t left his nose for years. Surely, he would smell it if they were here.

But there’s nothing.

No smell. No more wings in the wind. Nothing but him and his panicked breathing.

Slowly, oh so slowly, his vision clears as the other smells hit his nose. The familiar ones. The just after thunderstorm rain smell from Geralt, and the sweet sugary scent of Ciri. His bonded. And Yennefer, fainter but the lilac still lingering.

“Shit. I’m so sorry.” Whirling around, he see’s Geralt on the floor on his ass, sprawled a little and Ciri is in front of him, eyes wide and fearful and. “I thought- I heard-” He tries, but the words won't come out and then Ciri is hugging him hard around his middle, still only coming up to his shoulder. “I heard them they were-”

“Just an overly large owl.” Yennefer tells him, as he hugs Ciri tightly back, melting into the arms that wrap around him from behind.

“I’m so sorry.” He whispers. And Geralt growls behind him.

“Don’t be. Come on. I think you need a rest.”

And maybe he did. He hadn’t slept much, too scared that the nightmares were going to get larger and meaner. More terrifying. And they were already pretty horrible to begin with.

“Oh but dinner I was meant to-” The hare he had caught was still waiting by the fire to be roasted.

“Jask.” Geralt turns him gently, and Ciri just loosens her arms until he turns and then hugs his back. Awkwardly, he twists his good arm to be able to hold her arm. “Sleep. Now. C’mon.”

One of the perks of travelling with Yennefer was the magical tent. So with a kiss to her still brown hair and another tight hug to Ciri Jaskier lets himself be led into the warmth of the magically enlarged tent.

“Come here.” Geralt says as soon as the fabric snaps shut behind them as Jaskier falls into his arms, breath heaving.

“I thought they’d come after me.” He gasps, hands fisting into the fabric of Geralt’s shirts at his sides. Making sure he’s not catching skin with how tightly he’s holding on. “I thought they’d come after me and were going to hurt you all. To get to me. Fuck. I’m so sorry, i’m putting you in danger again I thought they wouldn’t come after me-”

“Jaskier. Do you smell them?” Geralt is able to rest his hands on Jaskier’s shoulders now without pain. The burn had been healing a lot more quickly with salve since the scales had come through. And there’s no pain as Geralt grips tightly, grounding him.

Jaskier sniffs. But there’s just the familiar smell of Geralt and their things. “No.”

“Would they know where we were?”

They would have lost him at the safe house. Yennefer had so many wards up he would have been untraceable. And after losing him there they wouldn’t be able to find him. Especially since they were travelling without any solid path other than Geralt’s as a witcher. “No.”

“Have they ever followed you before?”

“No.” And they hadn’t. Content to stay in their lair and refusing to leave their hoard.

The questions bring him further back to the present. Back to reality. The grounding of Geralt at his shoulders helps, and he keeps time as best he can with the witcher’s own breaths.

“And, you haven’t been sleeping. Which fucks with you.”

“Yeah.”

“Nightmares?” They’re still standing in the middle of the tent. 

“I’m terrified they’re gonna get worse.” He confesses. And Geralt nods. Because he knows. Of course he knows. The man was plagued with nightmares. Jaskier was just thankful he had been able to help with them in the last few years, waking Geralt up and doing for Geralt what he was doing for him now.

“I know. And they probably will. But i’m here. I’ll keep you safe.”

“You don’t sleep as is it is though-”

“Jask.” Geralt interrupts him with a kiss to his forehead. “Let me take care of you.”

He can’t argue with that. “Okay.”

Letting Geralt gently herd him to the double mattress Yennefer was so gracious to conjure up for them, he lets Geralt undress him to his smallclothes. Putting on his sleep pants himself, he also puts a shirt on although it wasn’t his custom anymore. He didn’t need to see the burn tonight. He didn’t need that reminder.

Getting into the bed, he smiles indulgently as Geralt puts himself between Jaskier and the tent opening. Just like he had been doing since the first hints of him being in serious trouble. It really hadn’t been that long ago. But that first time seems like a lifetime away now.

What matters though is Geralt’s arms around him. Holding him and keeping him close. All Jaskier can do is breathe in time with him, trying to measure his breaths as he calms down. Focusing everything on his bonded.

It’s thoughts of Geralt and the quiet indistinguishable mutters from the man himself that eventually lull him into sleep.

-

Surprisingly, nightmares don’t come for him. And he wakes up under Geralt’s bulk, the other man sleeping soundly with his nose buried into the crook of Jaskier’s neck. Looking over, he sees Ciri passed out completely in her own bed, head at the end of the bed rather than the top. Something she had been doing recently, moving around so much in her sleep she ended up facing a completely way from when she had fallen asleep.

Deep down, he knew it was the stress he was causing her, giving her restless nights. And vows to stop himself from doing anything like the previous evening again. Or he’d try to at least. He didn’t want to cause Ciri any more stress than he already had.

Almost dying on her was already too much.

Yennefer is up, if her lack of appearance in the tent is anything to go by. Out of everyone, he’s surprised she’s the morning person. Wiggling out from underneath Geralt is hard, but he manages. Pressing a kiss to his disgruntled frown as he stands, pressing a pillow into Geralt’s hold so he’ll stop reaching out for him and slips on his shoes before padding outside.

The morning air is refreshing, cool against his skin and calm. But he can’t stop himself from scanning what little of the horizon he can see through the treetops, checking the perimeter of the camp even though he knows Yennefer has wards up.

“Morning.” He yawns, taking the mug from by the log where Yennefer had left it for him. This morning was a strong brewed spiced tea, something that clears his head without the use of magic. Another morning routine that they had continued.

“Morning.” She’s dressed in pants, something comfortable and easy to wear while they were still waking up. Hair messily piled around her head. “Sleep well?”

“Better than I thought I would. I’m sorry about yesterday.”

She snorts. “Don’t be. We’ve all had attacks like that.”

“Any advice?”

“Other than getting shitfaced?” She laughs at his amused raised eyebrow. “Talking helps. Triss convinced me to try and it and well.” She waves a dismissive hand. “It did actually help. Surprisingly.”

“Hm.” He thinks about it. “I don’t want to burden anyone like that. I might just stick to getting shitfaced.”

“Oh no no no.” She levels him with a look across the smouldering campfire, pointing at him accusingly around her own mug of tea. “If I had to do it so do you at some point.”

“Everyone already has so much shit-”

“Jaskier. If Geralt wanted to talk to you about something traumatic because it would make him feel better. Would you let him?”

“Of course.” He would. Always. Anything to help relieve his beloved’s pain. And oh. Oh.

“Then there’s your answer.” Why did she always have a point? “Honestly, I know Geralt is bad at feelings but I didn’t think you were that dense too.”

“Hey, he’s getting better.” It’s a token protest. “Shut up.”

She laughs, sipping her drink. “Never bard.”

They spend an hour just chatting about nothing back and forth before Geralt comes out of the tent, yawning and rubbing his eyes before he unceremoniously drops down next to Jaskier, pulling him into his lap.

“Good morning.” Jaskier chuckles, moving to get comfortable before relaxing back against Geralt’s chest. He gets a contented hum in response, and he lets Geralt steal a gulp of his tea before his hands settle around Jaskier’s waist, linking on his stomach. Comfortable enough in the company that the outward and blatant show of affection came naturally.

Yennefer just rolls her eyes at them. “Gross.”

“You sound like Ciri.” Jaskier chuckles and she smiles. Oddly bright.

“Nobody else i’de rather sound like.”

“Can’t argue there.” He agrees. And finishes the rest of the tea. “Should we wake her?”

“M’ already up you’re all so loud.” Ciri stumbles from the tent, taking stock of the scene before gagging at Geralt and Jaskier and going to sit next to Yennefer.

“Gross.”

“Exactly what I said.” Yennefer agrees.

He wants to stay on Geralt’s lap but knows if none of them make a move to get up and move, they won’t make it to the next town any time soon.

“Okay. I’ll be the first to get ready then.” Geralt pushes him to stand with a steady hand on his back, getting up after him.

Quietly the ‘never leaving him alone again’ promise rings in the back of his head and he warms at the thought, letting Geralt follow him back into the tent to dress.

He had been like that in their weeks of travel. Only leaving Jaskier on his own to go and take jobs. And even then he seemed reluctant to do so. Always making sure he stayed with Yennefer and Ciri. Jaskier appreciated it.

They dress separately, although Jaskier stays shirtless so Geralt can get the usual salve out and spend a few minutes rubbing it carefully into the burn.

It didn’t hurt to touch anymore. Most of the time anyway. And the redness had faded to a dull shiny pink. The red underneath of the scale outlines were a lot more visible now. Deep threads almost like strands of silk underneath his skin they were so fine but defined. He watches as Geralt works gentle fingers into the muscle of his shoulder and then his chest, carefully working his way from the start of the burn at Jaskier’s collarbone to the ends midway down his bicep.

“Thank you.” He smiles when Geralt places a kiss to the curve of his shoulder before going to the second part of the routine of helping Geralt into his armour.

He didn’t need the help, but Jaskier liked doing it anyway. And it gave them some time in the mornings, just to be for a little bit. Because for all Jaskier was a chatty bastard, he craved these quiet moments with Geralt. If Yennefer wasn’t there to keep Ciri company outside, Ciri would have been there too. Probably lounging on one of the beds to try and get a few more minutes of sleep, or probably getting herself armoured for the day in her own way. Her usual travelling dress of pants and a shirt with a cloak to hide her daggers and own short sword at her hip. A sneakier contrast to Geralt. Both being a complete contrast to Jaskier. Who had no weapons but the daggers hidden away tucked into his boots and his lute.

The mornings were always quiet. A time to wake up and be together as bonded. As family. 

“Love you.” He says across the space, wanting Geralt to know. To be reminded. And the smile that it gets him rivals the fucking sun.

It always surprised him, how wide and bright Geralt could smile. Or well, it still surprised him that those smiles were reserved for him and Ciri alone.

“Love you too.” Geralt mimics, before leading the way out of the tent.

They clean up the camp and pack everything they can up while Yennefer and Ciri take over the tent to change themselves. But it’s not much to clean considering most of the things went in Yennefer's magical bag of whatever the fuck, Jaskier couldn’t understand it. But he appreciated it. Because even while they were champions at packing light, with Yennefer’s magic bag that didn’t weigh anything they were travelling even lighter. And that meant travelling further.

To pass the rest of the time they saddle up the horses. Jaskier taking a little time to brush out Buttercup’s mane and tail, laughing as she preens under the attention before attending to Yennefer’s midnight black mare Quincy. Nobody knew where that name had came from, but Yennefer had just glared whenever anybody asked so they had let it drop.

She was a contrary thing, perfect for the witch. But she lets Jaskier saddle her and get her tack and gear ready. Only huffing at him. Much better than Roach had been in the beginning She doesn't even try to bite him.

“Ready?” He calls over the camp when Yennefer and Ciri emerge from it. Now dressed for travel. Ciri just comes over, picking who to ride with for the day while Yennefer magics the tent away into that bag of hers.

“Want to ride with me sweet pea?” He asks. “I won’t be playing much today so it’ll be a steady ride.” He didn’t have it in him to play right now. Not after the night before. It had left him feeling hollow and strange. It felt as though his hands weren’t working properly. He hated it, but he ignored it. Refused to bring it up lest they ask and he have to explain, unable to lie to them.

Because there was a difference between quietly talking to Geralt about it in little snippets, and telling all three of them his constant fears and anxiety. He didn’t want to put Ciri through any more trauma. Her losing her family was enough, and then she had almost added Jaskier to that list of lost loved ones. She didn’t need to hear about how badly it had fucked him up.

And it had. When he chose to think about it. Or he couldn’t put off thinking about it any longer. While the physical pain had gone, and the scars on his body were mostly silvery flecks apart from his burn, the mental anguish still remained. He was constantly plagued with the memories, and no amount of playing or conversation could get his family's words or actions from his mind. The searing pain of the branding, the ugly words they had thrown at him. The beating. The starvation over those few days of travelling.

Really, he was just lucky to have gotten out as soon as he could. And he’s glad he had instead of waiting for a valiant rescue. He was glad his resolve had gotten so strong. Because if he hadn’t escaped so soon or in the way that he had, Geralt and Ciri might have come for him and been hurt. No they definitely would have. And that definitely would have killed him.

That idea now though had bled into their daily lives. It had already hurt a little being away from them initially. But now it had gone back to the deep searing ache, one that spread through his whole body whenever they were out of his sight for too long. Even if they were only separated by a wall, or a closed door, it was still too much. It set his teeth on edge. Not being able to see them, to make sure they were okay at all times. They weren't being hurt. They hadn't been kidnapped to get back at him. To hurt him even further.

He’d die before letting anyone take them.

So them being out of his sight hurt, never mind more than a few rooms away. Geralt seemed to understand. Or at least had his own reasons for keeping Jaskier close. And Jaskier knew them, logically. He was trying to protect Jaskier.

He had gone back to putting himself between Jaskier and every doorway. Every line of trees. Much like he had when that one town had been looking for dragons.

Now though, despite seeing sight nor sound of his actual family since he had ran, the danger seemed a lot more real. More dangerous. And he guesses that because of the torture it was. It didn’t matter if they didn’t come for him. They had still hurt him. And Geralt was trying to make up for it. Or keep him safe now that he could.

They hadn’t spoken about it. Even though it had been over a month since it had happened. But Jaskier knows that it’s because he hasn’t offered anything up. Nothing but the bare minimum of details. And from what Yennefer had said, he knows they should talk eventually.

But not yet, he really wasn’t up to it yet. Just over a month wasn’t a long time. Especially since he had been trying to repress everything.

By the time he’s back in his own head, having done everything on autopilot, they’re back on the road. And apparently have been travelling for a while.

That had been happening too. Him getting stuck in his own head. When he snaps back to himself he finds Ciri behind him, holding on tightly to him as they were on Buttercup and currently in the middle of travelling. It startles him, just a little.

“Hello sweet pea.” She just rubs her face on his back in recognition. 

“Back with us bard?” Yennefer calls from behind them and he nods absently.

“Yeah yeah. Always was, shut up.”

“If you say so.”

“I do say so.” He snarks back, although there’s no heat behind it.

“I can smell if you’re lying.” She trills and he snorts.

“Only Geralt can do that.” He calls back.

“Wait, Geralt can smell if i’m lying?” Ciri asks, and he can practically hear her wide eyes in the panicked tone and he nods.

“Yup. It’s really annoying.” He rolls his eyes, calling forward to Geralt even though he knows he can hear them. “It’s why he never believes me when I tell him i’m not plastered.”

“I can tell that just by looking at you Jaskier.” He calls back, amusement radiating off him and Jaskier preens unashamedly at being the one to get that emotion from him. His draconic side had been a lot more present since the kidnapping. Obviously a primary safety mechanism kicking in. But normally he was able to push things down, his instincts and such. But that wasn’t really an option right now. Not when the instincts were fighting mainly to keep them all safe. And whenever he tried to fight them down, they would come back full force.

It had been hard to make sure the others didn’t find out. He was terrified of them finding out, that they would find out the full extent of his instincts and would leave. He wouldn’t blame them. Especially after seeing what his family had done and was capable of.

“Hmm. What have you been lying about sweet pea? To get you panicked like that.” He mutters over his shoulder and laughs when she pinches him in the side.

“Nothing. Shut up dad.”

She had been calling him that a lot lately. And he loved it. Adored it. Knowing that she loved him just as much as he loved her. He was honoured to be a parental figure to her. And completely baffled that she loved him and trusted him enough to create that bond. Especially after what had happened to her previous familial figures. It was her own version of reassurance too, he thinks. For the pair of them.

“If you say so.” He laughs. “Just ask me if you need any help sneaking things under Geralt’s nose. I’m good at that. Oh! Is this a sneaking out to see someone situation? I can help you there too don’t worry i’m great at that.” He thinks about it for a second. “Are you sneaking out to see a boy? A girl? A partner? Ciri did you have a partner and not tell us!” 

“Jaskier.” She pinches him again. “Shut up.”

“Alright alright. Shutting up, shutting up.” He backs down, but he’s laughing. “Seriously though-”

“I know dad.” She sounds done, but head-butts his back affectionately which means that she got the message at least. They’d chat about whatever it was later. Probably while Geralt was on a job, and Yennefer was scamming tavern patrons either in gwent or with magic she charged far too much for that they were always willing to pay.

They had a nice little set up going on.

And it was one they only pulled in the wealthier towns. Or the ones who had been shitty to Geralt. It worked. And nobody ever suspected them. Who would. He was a pompous bard and for all they knew she was just a very beautiful sorceress. And who would really accuse them when they had a child in tow? Nobody. That’s who.

He wants to ask how long they’ve been riding but doesn’t want them to realise he’s lost time so he tries to see if he can tell from the sun and realises he doesn’t even know when they set off so that’s a bust. Instead, he asks his second question.

“How long until we reach the town?” He put’s enough whine into it that he hopes will make them think he’s just tired of riding. And to his relief Yennefer just snorts from behind him.

“Another half day.” Geralt shouts back. “Want to stop? It’s just past lunch anyway.”

The stopping more frequently had come about since Ciri had joined them, and Jaskier was forever grateful.

“Yes!” He and Ciri call back in unison and chuckle together.

So they stop after another ten minutes when Geralt scouts an appropriate dip in the tree-line and tie the horses up so they can graze. Although Jaskier gets some oats out to feed them with too while Yennefer and Ciri get their drinks and Geralt gets their rations out.

“How much time did you lose?” Geralt asks, near silently when they’re both at the packs on Roach and Jaskier shrugs. He was sure he hadn’t alerted anyone to how long it had been but of course Geralt knew him a lot better than he gave him credit for.

“I checked out before we even left, i’ve got no idea.”

Geralt hisses, before putting a comforting hand on Jaskier’s back. Rubbing in soothing circles. “It’s okay. Used to happen to me all the time.”

“Yeah?” He turns slightly, leaning into the touch and Geralt nods.

“I lost a few years. You’ll be okay. We’ll get through this.”

“I’m sorry for putting so much shit on you-”

“Jask stop it.” Geralt kisses his forehead. “You’d do the same for me.”

“I would.”

“Then stop worrying. C’mon.”

Jaskier follows Geralt to where Yennefer and Ciri were sitting and takes the food offered to him when Geralt passes out the cured meat and bread.

He was grateful Geralt wasn’t pushing him to talk. Probably because he had mostly always offered the man the same consideration. At Least when feelings and painful memories were concerned.

Geralt had been looking after him constantly lately. And even with his head as wrecked as it was, he wanted to do something nice for him. To show his thanks and appreciation. Because that’s how it had always been really. Geralt looking after him and him just tagging along.

That’s not to say he had never helped. There had been countless nights full of nightmares that Jaskier had soothed away. And he couldn’t count the number of times he had bathed and stitched Geralt up. He missed it. He missed taking care of him. Maybe he’d call for a bath when they stopped. Be ready for when Geralt finished his job. It was inevitable he’d get one. Everywhere always had at least one job. Maybe he’d try and go with him. Try and wheedle his way into the adventure and have Geralt make him stay back in the tavern. Try and bring some normalcy back.

Because really, if things continued the way they were he would go mad. No matter how fragile he was feeling. How much he probably needed to talk about what had happened. He just desperately wanted things to go back to normal. Forget the whole thing. Pretend like it had never happened.

Even though he knew that was foolish. The scars he held were a constant reminder. The bumps of scar tissue under his chin, silvery white like the matching ones on his shoulder and of course his burn. 

His best bet, at least right now to save himself from getting too bogged down by his thoughts, was to ignore it. 

So he gets his lute out. Taken from Buttercup’s pack given he couldn’t have it on his back with Ciri riding with him, and tries his best to continue on with Yennefer's song.

_‘Razing armies, raising cubs. A woman of many talents._ _  
_ _Most of which you cannot find, in stories told or ballads._ _  
_ _For she refuses praise or legacy, atleast of the typical kind._ _  
_ _Destiny’s favoured as fortunes told. Glory and life entwined.’_

It’s a lot better than it had been initially. And the melody is definitely getting there. He thinks it makes a nice companion piece to Ciri’s lullaby.

“How would you feel about a lullaby?” He asks Yennefer, breaking their conversation and she shrugs.

“As indifferent as I feel towards any of your work bard.”

“Hmm.” He scowls at her. Unable to scent how truthful she was being. Because it wouldn’t surprise him if she was telling the truth. They were newly friends, sure. But that didn’t mean she was going to pull her punches. “You’re getting it anyway.” He decides. He had to make up for Her Sweet Kiss anyway.

“Fine.” He looks over again to see her almost smiling. And takes that as confirmation she doesn’t mind. Good. She wasn’t bonded. Would never be. But damn it if they weren’t going to become proper good friends eventually.

“Don’t accept it just like that Yenn.” Geralt warns, almost grumbling. “Soon you’ll have entire catalogues composed about you.”

“That’s only you my love.” He pats Geralt’s arm absently, him sitting close enough that Jaskier can without stretching.

Geralt just huffs, but Jaskier can smell the contentment coming from him so just tuts instead, pushing him slightly by the shoulder even though he doesn’t even budge. Putting his lute down, he lets his hand rest on Geralt’s arm. Picking his food back up from his knee to eat one handed. Needing the contact.

Geralt doesn't say anything, just leans into it ever so slightly and keeps eating himself. Both content to listen in silence to Ciri and Yennefer’s conversation.

-

The town they end up at has a sizeable tavern with rooms, and with Jaskier’s playing they end up being able to get their money back on two rooms and then some. Geralt had even managed to get a job. Something simple, just a few drowners terrorising travellers coming in and out. So he left that afternoon and if Jaskier was right would be back within the day, and probably just after he had finished his set.

Ciri and Yennefer had gone up to their room eventually, bidding Jaskier a good night as he continued to play. Playing was helping. Even if composing still left his brain feeling stilted and as though it were full of cotton wool. Playing though, it was helping. Just like it always had. He had had to push himself to play initially, especially when the burn was still healing and his arm was stiff with it. It probably hadn’t helped the healing process, but it had helped him feel more himself after everything.

So while there’s nothing new, he’s still able to play. And considering the size of the town the coin is good and they’re actually participating. Singing and clapping along, and as the night grows darker and the drinks flow more freely they get rowdier. Stomping and pounding on the tables in time as his songs get raunchier.

It’s fun, and although he’s still on edge with one eye on the door at all times, he feels a lot more loose than he had been since waking up at Yennefer's. The patrons respond well to him, laughing at his exaggerated winks or hip thrusts as the songs get dirtier, cheering him on. It’s good. It’s something he hadn’t realised he needed to help him feel more like himself, although it should have been obvious.

It’s years of knowing each other's schedule and timing that has Jaskier winding down and collecting his coin when Geralt comes back into the tavern after his hunt. Stinking of swamp and gore but without any heads which could either mean he’s been paid or he didn’t find anything at all. That, or Jaskier needed to go and have some strong words with somebody to get Geralt his payment.

Taking a quick look as Geralt stomps past, he’s bruised and a little bloody. But his stomps aren’t his pissed off ones and more his tired ones which means he probably got paid. So Jaskier goes to the bar and orders hot water be sent up for the bath and follows Geralt upstairs.

And maybe he runs when he gets to the stairs. Nobody has to know but him.

“Jask.” Geralt sighs when Jaskier gets to their room, having left the door unlocked for him.

“I’ve ordered a bath. Oh fuck, they really got you huh?” He winces when Geralt takes his armour off, there’s a large gash down his back that Jaskier knows he'll have to stitch and already he’s going over to their bags to get the salve for afterwards.

“Had worse.” Geralt grunts, and Jaskier goes over to smooth over his drenched swampy hair, making a face at the feelings and exaggeratedly wiping it off on the tiniest clean part of Geralt’s shirt.

Geralt doesn’t laugh but he does smile, and that’s enough.

“Want me to stitch you up in the bath or out of it?”

“Out if it.”

“Alright.” He putters around getting everything for the bath until there’s a knock on the door and the barman comes in with buckets, not making eye contact while he pours the hot water in the bath and leaves once once it’s full without a word.

“Bastard.” Jaskier hisses. Some people still hated witchers, and he really didn’t understand it. Instead of drawing attention to it though, because it could be worse. He shoo’s at Geralt who had started taking his pants off the second the door was shut.

“Go on, get in. I’ll be there in a second.”

It’s positively normal getting all the soaps and oils together. Taking them with a towel and brush over to the bath before rolling his sleeves up to kneel behind Geralt who was hissing in pleasure. The bath hot enough to scald with how he’d warmed it with igni. Probably. Jaskier hasn’t seen him do it, but the water had definitely not been that hot when it had been brought up.

“You need me to patch up your armour as well?” He asks as he rolls his sleeves up and Geralt grunts.

“No. I’ll do that in the morning.”

“Okay my love.” He wets his hands, going straight to the cut on Geralt’s back to clean it before it started closing up. Close up, he could see that it didn’t need stitching. But it would need salve before Geralt went to bed. So as quickly as he can while still being careful he cleans around it, cupping his hands to pour water over it and rub soap into the skin surrounding it, gently soothing a hand over Geralt’s shoulder whenever he hissed at the contact. “Sorry m’love.”

“S’okay.” Geralt rolls his neck, hanging his head forward to give Jaskier more access to his back and Jaskier takes a few minutes massaging the muscle there.

They stay quiet as Jaskier slowly starts to clean Geralt up. Going through the motions, mind calming as he goes through the usual routine of cleaning Geralt up. He runs his hands lovingly over Geralt’s form. Soaping his hands and working them into tired muscles to get rid of the swamp smell and tension before moving to his hair.

It’s nice, sitting in the quiet as he bathes his beloved. Getting to dote on Geralt and take care of him like Geralt had been doing for him for lately. Albeit in a different manner. He braids Geralt hair after he’s washed it. Combing his fingers through it once he’s done and re-doing it all over again. Just to feel Geralt’s hair in his hands and feel him relax in his grip.

Geralt reheats the water a few times. Not asking Jaskier to do it although he could, and he appreciates it. Instead, he just heats the water with the occasional _igni_ and Jaskier spends a good few hours just fussing over him.

He hums as he does. Throat raw from the set but wanting to fill the quiet. Slow and sleepy melodies of songs that are mostly not his own. From old stories and ballads. Soft songs that fall from his closed lips. Lilting and causing him to sway.

“You could join me you know.” Geralt drawls at some point, rolling his head back against the rim of the bath although his eyes stay closed.

“Nah not tonight.” Jaskier replies, hushed. Not really wanting to look at his burn. It was why he currently still had his shirt on. Despite his front being pretty wet now. He had been bathing Geralt for a while now. Or more just fussing with Geralt’s hair. But they were both enjoying it if Geralt’s contented little noises were anything to go by.

Geralt doesn’t say anything, but he brings a hand out of the water to latch onto Jaskier’s wrist. Holding it tenderly despite how firm the grip is.Wanting to be close, to hold. Jaskier appreciated it as he gives up use of that hand. Letting his fingers curl as best they can to touch Geralt’s wrist as he goes back to washing with his free hand.

“If you’re not coming in, i’ll get out then.” Geralt says eventually, just when Jaskier had thought he had dozed off and stands, a rush of water almost going everywhere before he turns and holds a hand out to help Jaskier up.

If Jaskier were in the right headspace, he would definitely have stayed on his knees for the man. His dick was right there, and although it wasn’t hard Jaskier could fix that. But he’s tired and worn out from travel and the upset of yesterday so he stands. Placing a kiss to Geralt’s knuckles before going over to the bed to sit sideways. Patting it encouragingly before unscrewing the healing salve and waiting for Geralt to dry.

He doesn’t even bother dressing, just runs a towel over himself before sitting once again with his back to the bard. And Jaskier doesn’t waste any time in spreading the salve over the now mostly healed cut. Being careful with the delicate skin of the scab.

“You okay?” Geralt growls more than asks when Jaskier finishes with a kiss to the nape of his neck.

“Tired.” He answers honestly. And then stands, stretching and stripping off his shirt. Pointedly looking anywhere but his shoulder as he goes over to where he’d lain out new clothes for the next day. His chemise for tomorrow would do as a sleep shirt for tonight and he lays the wet shirt by the fire to dry. “Glad we’ve got a bed.”

“Hm. You were the one itching to leave.”

“Two weeks without a bed Geralt, is tough on anybody.” He tuts, going to climb under the covers and poke Geralt with his toes until Geralt stands with a quiet chuckle, going to put his sleep pants on before climbing under the covers too.

It’s a tight squeeze on the single bed but that just gives Jaskier even more excuse to snuggle under Geralt’s arm. Throwing one leg over Geralt’s own, he wraps around Geralt like an octopus, pressing in as close as he can while Geralt rests an arm around his shoulder, pulling him in tight and holding him.

He missed having a nest. Especially since even in the tent he didn’t have one. Not wanting to dirty any of Yennefer’s mattresses. And slowly it was gnawing away at him. And having Ciri in a different room to him, even protected by Yennefer, was hurting him somewhere deep with the anxiety. 

Not that he’d say anything to either of them. Or even Geralt. Because Ciri adored Yennefer, and they had plenty of time with her when Yenn wasn’t with them. And just because he wanted her close didn’t mean that she should be. He refused to be controlling like that. Especially since she was safer with Yennefer than she probably was with him. And oh, that hurts him in a completely different way. One he squashes down as best he can lest the jealousy arise within him once again for entirely different reasons.

Fuck. For now, snuggling up to his bonded would have to satiate the pains.

And it does, to a certain degree. And he kisses Geralt’s chest. “Goodnight my own.” He murmurs, falling into sleep. And the last thing he hears before he does is Geralt saying it back.

-

“Oh for fucks SAKE!” He ends his sentence in a shout, leaping out of the way of the warg as Geralt groans off to the side. “GERALT!” He had his swords out already, or he had the silver one out anyway. They were supposed to be hunting for their dinner. But apparently, the trio of wargs had other plans and had pounced on them as soon as they had come across the deer carcass. They weren’t even going to touch it! Spoilt food was inedible. It would have been the wargs to have and if they had just left them in peace.

Unwillingly, he raises his lute in front of him. Snarling as best he can without his fangs at the last remaining warg circling him. “Geralt really-” The warg lunges at him as he talks, fangs dripping in blood from the deer and Jaskier yells as it almost reaches him.

But then with a howl, the last warg is taken care of and Geralt huffs at him as the warg falls to his feet. “Fucks sake.” He grunts. Wiping his blade on his pants and Jaskier know’s he’ll clean it meticulously later. “I hate killing them, it's like killing a dog.”

“They were attacking us though.” Jaskier reasons, because he knows Geralt will stew over that if he let him. “Come on, let’s go and find something to eat.”

He knows really, that he should have shifted partially and taken care of it instead of making Geralt do all the work. One gnash of his teeth or swipe of his claws and the warg would either be scared off or dead. He had done it in the past, back when he was hunting on his own. It was an easy thing to do. But now, the thought of shifting makes him feel ill. He can only link it to the feeling of fleeing. The sick and twisted pain he had been in. The way his mother had used it to hurt him.

Shaking himself, he realises they’re in a different part of the woods, and Geralt’s hand is on his lower back guiding him.

“Back with me?” He asks quietly and Jaskier nods.

“Got any food yet?”

“Yep. You made great rabbit bait.” Geralt tries to joke and Jaskier gives him a chuckle.

“Well you know. Standing there blankly is what always brings out the hares.”

“Well, it sort of did. They got curious and came to sniff you and then I grabbed ‘em.”

Jaskier stops, turning to Geralt and snorts. “I can’t actually believe you used me as rabbit bait.”

Geralt just shrugs but he smiles. The soft one that’s for Jaskier only and wiggles the bundle of hares from side to side a little. “We should do it again at some point, it worked.”

“I can’t believe you.” Jaskier huffs, but he tilts his head to kiss Geralt’s jaw anyway and follows him back to camp.

“Was I out for long?” He asks quietly, just before they get back through the trees and Geralt shakes his head.

“No.”

“Okay good.” And then he doesn’t say anything else as they reach the camp where Yennefer and Ciri were obviously conspiring over something.

-

He forgoes the tent the next week of nights. The walls of the tent were only canvas. But they trapped him in, the low ceiling almost suffocating him. So he waved the questions off, waxing poetic about the clear night and stars. Leaving the other three to sleep in the tent. Or Yennefer and Ciri anyway, because Geralt insisted on staying outside with him.

So here they were, in the dead of night. Side by side both lying on their backs as they point out constellations. Making names up for each of them and stories as the hours ticked by. 

“That one.” Jaskier points to a small cluster. “Is called the meditate. Which is what you should be doing. Or even better, it’s called the sleep. Another thing you should be doing.”

“Not unless you do.” Geralt drawls and Jaskier snorts.

“You know i’m not sleeping.”

“I know.” Geralt rolls to his side, head pillowed on his arm.

“You gonna say anything else?” Jaskier prods, still looking at the sky. He wasn’t anxious, not at Geralt looking him over. But at the words unsaid.

Geralt just hums and he has to laugh. A sigh of a thing.

“Is this where you want me to talk?”

“Not if you don’t want to.”

“I don’t.”

“Must be a new experience for you.” Jaskier turns his head to see Geralt smirking with it and bats at him. Smile slow on his own face.

“Brute.” He rolls over too. Although he keeps a little distance between them. Needing a little space. “Yenn says I should talk about it.”

“Yen bottled stuff up for decades.” Geralt snorts. “You take as much time as you need.”

“Thank you.”

“And i’ll be here. Using you as rabbit bait and making sure you don’t get scared by any more owls.”

“Shut up.” Jaskier hisses, shoving at his shoulder. “It was a very large owl.”

Having Geralt treat it lightly helped. If he was able to joke about it, play it all up. Then it must mean that it wasn’t a burden like Jaskier feared. It was just something that happened. Like Roach and Buttercup nibbling at his doublet or Geralt hunting their dinner.

“The biggest owl.” Geralt jokingly agrees. Reaching out to wind an arm around Jaskier’s waist and pull him to his chest. “Very large. Almost a cockatrice.”

“Exactly.” He huffs, even as he nuzzles in. “Sleep. I won’t be going anywhere.”

Geralt yawns into his hair. “I know.”

-

“I’m going to name stars after you.” Jaskier breathes into Geralt’s neck the next night. Despite the sky being clouded and stars barely visible. Geralt just hums, tightening his hold before rolling them over. Chuckling when Jaskier gasps.

“You do that.”

“I will. All of them.” Jaskier gasps again when Geralt straddles him, pressing open mouthed kisses into Jaskier’s neck. Rumbling into the skin there, biting gently before nipping harshly.

Geralt hums, licking over the skin he’d bitten but then abruptly stops. Hand flattening on Jaskier’s chest to keep him still as he bolts upright, head tilting as he listens for something Jaskier can’t hear.

So Jaskier strains to hear too and freezes when he hears wings. But it’s softer than it would be if it were a dragon. Muffled. Softer. But still, it causes his heart rate to go up. For his breathing to stop.

“Stay here.” Geralt growls. Getting up and reaching for his swords. Grabbing the silver one.

And fuck no, Jaskier can’t do that. Can’t be left on his own. So he scrambles after Geralt. Grabbing both of his daggers from his boots as he follows. It’s hard, following without breathing. But he does it. Eyes only able to see Geralt's back as they crash through the undergrowth.

Because maybe, just maybe. They’d found him. And Geralt was going to face them and they’d hurt him. He couldn’t have that happen. So despite his panic and the vomit rising in his throat he follows.

They’re walking and stumbling for what feels like a lifetime before Jaskier crashes into Geralt’s back when he stops abruptly and it’s automatic when Geralt reches behind him to steady Jaskier.

“Fuck.” He hisses, and Jaskier, with his heart in his throat, peeks around him to see what he’s cursing at.

Honestly, thoughts of his family are still flashing through his brain and he desperately tries to prepare himself as he steels himself for whatever Geralt is holding him back from.

It’s a cockatrice.

He’s really not sure why that sends him straight into a panic attack.

Maybe it’s the instant feeling of relief when he sees the scrawny feathers that tips his brain over the edge. Ready to shut down at any hint of strong emotion. Or maybe it’s horribly beaked face and sneer reminded him terribly of his mother.

Which honestly, that thought gets him to wheeze out a laugh even as he collapses into a ball on the floor. And oh. It’s never been this bad before.

He’s dying. He knows it this time. This felt worse than the djinn incident. At least then he could sort of breathe. And there weren't angry cockatrice noises and shouting from Geralt going on. The usual warmth he carries in his chest from his fire vanishes. Leaving him freezing and he starts to shake from that and his lack of breathing.

Geralt shouts, wordless and angry and Jaskier knows he should be helping. Knows he should be partially shifting to fight. To make sure Geralt stayed safe. He wasn’t in armour and cockatrices were absolute bastards. He can hear it, vaguely. Through the blood rushing and heartbeat pounding in his ears. It’s shrieking, angry and hurt. He can’t hear Geralt at all. Much like he can’t feel the forest floor under his body. Despite knowing there are twigs poking him in his knees and side and his face. His daggers are next to him somewhere they must be. But he can’t reach out to find them, to try and help. He’s frozen.

Choking on a gasp, he tries desperately to get his breath back through his panic. And he looks up, gasping again when he sees that Geralt is covered in blood. His own blood. And the cockatrice looks as though it’s shifting, bones creaking and cracking and suddenly there's scales, red and dull and oh so familiar and Jaskier thinks he screams. Because there’s his mother, fighting Geralt and drawing blood that bleeds through Geralt’s soft sleep shirt and he screams again. Fighting against his frozen body to try and get up, to try and help. But he can’t move. Doesn’t even think he’s screaming-

And then there’s a spark of magic in the air and another shriek from the cockatrice which is definitely a cockatrice when he blinks and a weight falls onto him, holding him. Not down, or in place. Just a reassuring weight and there are hands in his hair and possibly whispers in his ear as the screeching finally stops.

“Jask. Jaskier come back to me.” 

He can’t speak for shaking. Because the cockatrice had definitely just been his mother, had been hurting Geralt and turning his shirt bloody. The voice in his ear keeps talking, saying something that sounds familiar but he can’t place it. Too busy looking at the corpse in front of him. He’s lying practically eye to eye with it and he can’t move. Can’t scramble back and hide in case it’s playing another trick and has shifted to it’s false cockatrice form and is only pretending to be dead.

He didn’t know his mother could shift forms like that.

And then suddenly it’s no longer eye level, it’s falling away from him. Or, as he feels the cold on his side, he’s rising. And that scares him, because how and he goes to lash out but there are arms holding him. Arms he knows by touch when his hands flail out. And that confuses him, because Geralt shouldn’t be carrying him if he’s hurt. And what if the thing was still alive and would follow them back to camp to hurt Ciri and-

“Jask. Look at me.” He’s placed on his feet. Heavy weights land on his shoulder and he blinks the slowly claiming blackness away at the tone. And there’s Geralt. His amber eyes squinted in concern and Jaskier looks him over. And he’s beaten up, but he’s not bleeding like Jaskier had seen. And when he looks over Geralt's shoulder. He sees the cockatrices head firmly and definitely removed from its body. Which even dragons couldn’t recover from. And if it had been his mother, wouldn’t her form return to her dragon or human one? Instead of firmly staying as the cockatrice?

“She was-” He tries to get out, pointing over Geralt’s shoulder and is shushed again.

“Not here.”

“Let’s get him back to camp.” Somebody says from over his shoulder and he thinks it’s Yennefer. He shakes his head though, so violently it hurts. And despite his hands shaking, he takes Geralt's sword from his hand.

It’s heavier than he can really deal with. His enhanced strength not quite being up to witcher standard. So he holds it in both hands, almost staggering over to the corpse to prod at it with the tip of the sword. Ignoring the hand on his back keeping him upright.

It doesn’t move when he prods it. And then doesn’t move again when he hacks at it as best he can despite his weak and shaking arms. It was definitely a dead cockatrice.

Turning back, he looks Geralt over again as he hands the swords back which Geralt takes without a word. He is bloody, because the cockatrice did get him a few times. But it’s mere scratches compared to what he had seen. And Geralt was already knitting back together beneath his torn shirt and pants. Nowhere close to death.

“It wasn’t her was it? Like I saw?” He asks, voice shaking. And Geralt just shakes his head. There’s no pity in his eyes, it’s more like understanding and Jaskier shudders.

“Fuck.” He chokes on his own breath before pushing past Geralt. Making his way blindly back to the camp. “Fuck.” He curses again when they get back to the camp. Eyes full of tears and chest full of grief. Letting himself collapse back onto his bedroll.

He ignores Geralt when he spoons behind him. Ignores the gentle fingers in his hair and the strong arm around his waist. Keeping him safe and protected. He ignores the feeling of being loved, the silent understanding.

Because he couldn’t feel anything.

-

He wakes up with Ciri in his arms and Geralt at his back. Surrounded by what looks like every blanket in the vicinity. Weighed down by the sheer amount of them. It’s comforting, and he buries his nose into Ciri’s roots, throwing a leg back to tangle with Geralt’s own as he lets himself be held.

Because they were safe. The nightmares that had plagued him in the night weren’t real. The thing he had seen yesterday wasn’t real. It had just been a cockatrice, and his mind had been playing tricks on him.

Maybe he should talk about it. Because really, they couldn’t have him freezing up in every fight. Couldn’t have him too scared to shift and help when it was really needed. Geralt was in serious danger yesterday, and all he had done was collapse onto the floor.

Even if he couldn’t shift, he needed to find a way to not collapse whenever danger got near. He had a decent amount of training with a short sword, so they’d have to pick him up one when they got to the next town and he could ask Geralt for more training.

If he wouldn’t rely on his dragon instincts he would have to go back to regular weapons. Like he had been using before he had shifted fully that last winter. Obviously, he had gotten too comfortable and cocky, thinking he could rely on the shifting. People still hated dragons, and would kill him if they knew what he was. Would hunt him down, and therefore he was putting Ciri in danger.

So, it was decided. He would pick up a short sword again. He’d have to go back and look for his daggers, they had been expensive, and he’d train with them too. See if Yennefer could help him with that seeing as though she was good with them on top of her magic. He wasn’t bad himself, but she always fought dirty in a way Geralt couldn’t, and he knows he needs to rely on that way of fighting too.

“You up then?” Yennefer asks from where she’s presumably by the fire. Still doing their usual morning routine and he violently shakes his head which she chuckles at. “Have it your way then bard.”

“I will thanks.” He tries for his usual tone, grimacing when it falls flat before burying his face into Ciri’s hair again. Pulling her close as he leans back into Geralt’s tightening hold.

“Gotta be up soon.” Geralt rumbles into his hair and Jaskier grimaces once again.

“No.”

“Have to if you want to get to the next town soon.”

Jaskier couldn’t argue with that.

“Five more minutes.”

They give him another hour after he’s dozed off once again. And when he wakes up, everything is packed up and ready, and his head is in Geralt’s lap.

“Thanks.” He whispers, kissing Geralt’s knee before getting up, letting them drag him into the day.

His head was still fuzzy with nightmares and the memories of the night before that even playing his lute couldn’t drown out. But at least today he doesn’t lose time as they travel.

He’s overly present, eyes scanning the tree-line and horizon, as well as the skies whenever he doesn't need to be leading Buttercup. Because even if Geralt was also constantly doing that, another set of eyes wouldn’t hurt. And he was only really looking out for that one particular threat anyway.

“Geralt.” He asks, when they’re almost at the next backwater town. He rides up next to Roach on Buttercup, the horses huffing to one another and Buttercup gently noses at the older mare, huffing happily. “When we next rest somewhere suitable, will you go over the sword training with me again?”

Geralt just hums with a nod. “Of course.” He tilts his head. “I think there’s a short sword in Yenn’s pack.” He doesn’t ask any questions, and Jaskier is grateful.

“We really should get one of those.” Jaskier muses. “But yes, i’ll get it when we next stop.”

Geralt just hums again, and Jaskier can practically see the gears turning in his head as he starts to think about the further training. “I’ll leave you to your planning.” He smiles as he says it, knowing he’d lean across the space the horses create to kiss his bonded’s cheek if he had any chance of staying on said horse, and lets Buttercup slow to a trot go back to riding beside Quince.

“Training?” Ciri is on Quince with Yennefer, and Jaskier notes that when they can next afford it they should probably get her her own horse.

“Hmm.” He hums. “Will you help me go over my training? And Yenn, I would love some more training with daggers, I know you have dirty tricks Geralt would never teach me.”

She smirks at that, her laugh almost cackling, she's so delighted and nods. “Of course bard. I picked your daggers up; they're also in my pack.”

“Do you mean your magic bag that i’m not sure is entirely legal?” He cocks his head and she laughs again.

“The very same.” And that definitely isn’t a denial. Especially with how she winks at him when he raises an eyebrow.

“If we get caught with that thing i’m throwing you under the proverbial wagon.”

“Oh you just try it.” They smirk at one another then. Like they do now, and he clicks Buttercup to a trot once again.

-

The small town welcomes them with smiles and shouts of happiness. It baffles all of them if the stopping of all the horses is anything to go by.

“Witcher!” A man Jaskier can only assume is the alderman comes out from one of the houses, waving them down. “Welcome!”

“Geralt?” Jaskier gets down from Buttercup when Geralt gets down from Roach.

“Ah, we had a very bad kikimore problem a few years ago and your witcher here wouldn’t take the full payment.” Jaskier just looks to Geralt who shrugs, raising both eyebrows slightly. He’d get an explanation later.

“Well, thank you for the warm welcome.” Jaskier takes over the talking like he normally does and he’s surprised when the man smiles at him too.

“You must be his barker if you’re lute is anything to go by! We’d be honoured if you could play for us!” 

“I’de be honoured to play!” He beams, ignoring the muffled laughter from Ciri and Yennefer behind him.

“We have space in our tavern, although i’m sorry to say you might have to share between two rooms.” The alderman continues chatting as they’re led through the small town. People have come out to the street to watch them, smiling and waving at Geralt as he walks past and Jaskier grins when he sees Geralt wave back to the children.

“How much will the rooms be?” Jaskier asks, beaming even further when the man waves his question away.

“Call it paying back a favour. How long are you all staying?” He glances back, and his beard is long enough that it catches on his shoulder as he turns his head. Must be making up for the lack of hair on his head.

“Three nights.” Yennefer answers for them and it’s settled.

“Well then, we’ll prepare a feast for tonight then. On the house of course. We have a few aspiring bards here Master Jaskier, they’ve been very fond of your White Wolf Saga. Maybe we can turn it into a proper party.” He winks at that and oh Jaskier likes this place an awful lot.

“We’d be delighted.” He nods, and he’s surprised how easy it is to slip back into old socialising habits. It’s like the evening before had never happened. Although there’s still the anxiety eating away in the back of his mind that proves that that’s definitely not true. But he was a showman, he could easily charm the alderman and pretend everything was alright until he was alone again. Or with Geralt at least. Because after yesterday, he’s sure Geralt has seen every side of him and he was still there. Still helping. Jaskier still had to talk, to tell him about his impulses now and his instincts. To warn him. But the display yesterday hadn’t scared him off, so if he approached it properly he doesn’t think Geralt would be scared away by his instincts either.

At his glance behind Geralt just hums and follows, although he has a small frown on his face which means he doesn’t like the fanfare but will accept it for now.

“Here’s the stables, and i’ll show you all to the rooms.”

“Thank you so much.” Jaskier bows a little, smiling when the alderman blushes. Just slightly.

“Anything for the companions of the man who saved our town.”

“It’s not needed, but it’s appreciated. Thank you.” Geralt mutters, causing the man to blush even further as he beams.

“Very welcome. Now, i’ll give you a minute to collect your things.” He bustles from the stables, nodding deeply to Yennefer and Ciri as he goes. Both of whom then turn to Geralt with wide smirks.

“Never told us about this town.” Ciri wheedles and then ‘oomphs’ when Geralt throws her bag at her. “Hey.”

“Not a fucking word. Any of you.”

“We’re not promising anything.” Yennefer laughs, and Jaskier inclines his head to her with his own smirk.

Geralt just glares at them all, shouldering his bags, and leads them all out of the stables after making sure Roach was tied up properly and happy.

Jaskier rolls his eyes with a fond huff before seeing to Buttercup, making sure she’s comfortable before grabbing his own bag and following Geralt out.

The alderman leads them to the tavern, showing them to their rooms and leaving them there.

“Food’ll be ready tonight. Just keep an ear out.” He nods at them once more before leaving them to it.

“See you both in a few hours.” Yennefer wiggles her fingers at them, leading Ciri into the room next to the one they’ve been given and Ciri follows along, chattering away about a bath.

Jaskier watches them go as Geralt opens the door to their room, dragging him gently inside by his doublet sleeve when he doesn’t follow immediately. Too caught up in looking at the closed door of Ciri’s room.

It hurt a little, like a needle being pressed into his skin just above his heart over and over again. But he ignores it, like he had been doing for the past few weeks and lets himself be dragged into the room, shutting the door behind him.

“Hi.” He murmurs when he sees Geralt watching him. Watches as Geralt scents the air, although Jaskier knows he’s trying to be subtle. And he must smell the pain Jaskier feels because he frowns.

“Where are you hurt-”

“It’s gone back to uh, being like it was initially.” Jaskier tries to explain. Dumping his pack onto the floor before going over to one of the beds. There are two singles, and it’s easy enough dragging one of the mattresses onto the floor, shoving it into the free corner by the door. “You know when it hurt to be away from you both.”

“Shit.” Geralt breathes. “We can go and get her-”

“No no. Don’t tell her. She needs time with Yenn anyway.” Jaskier shrugs it off, smiling at Geralt when he wordlessly moves the other mattress next to the one on the floor. Shoving the blankets and cushions onto them. “No, it’s something I need to get used to again. It’ll lessen eventually.”

He falls onto the bed heavily. Tugging his boots off before burrowing under the covers, back to the wall as he snuggles in. “My instincts have come back full force.” It’s better to just get it over with. “I’ve got to get used to them again.”

“Meaning?” Geralt takes his own boots off. Sitting more carefully next to Jaskier. He sits with his back to the wall, letting Jaskier snuggle up to his side. One of his hands going to rest on the back of Jaskier’s head and Jaskier nuzzles into his hip.

“I’m finding it a lot harder to repress them.” He admits, speaking more into Geralt’s hip than anything else. “So i’m a lot more protective, and i’m wanting to nest a lot more. I can’t seem to fucking settle when I don’t. And i’m a lot more possessive. It hurts when you and Ciri are out of sight.” He sighs. “I can’t fucking settle anyway. And I can’t shift, i’m so fucking scared to shift. It’s like i’ve got a block or something despite being in so much pain because I haven’t.”

That was something he had been dealing with too. The ache in his bones to shift again fighting against the terror he felt about it.

Geralt just starts petting his hair, letting him speak.

“Fuck. And I should have been able to yesterday. But I thought it was her, I thought I saw it shift into her and I couldn’t fucking do anything about it. It’s like my fucking fear and instincts are fighting and neither are fucking winning.”

Geralt hums quietly, letting Jaskier just breathe. His fingers don’t stop their petting. They just flow through the strands before scritching at his scalp.

“Jask.” He’s quiet when he speaks, voice rough. “You can’t push yourself.”

“You were in danger and I didn’t help!” His own voice is rough, but with tears instead of tone. They’re sudden, but they threaten to fall easily and he lets them. “I saw it hurting you and I couldn’t do anything!”

“Jask. You were kidnapped and tortured. At the minute, you even being able to travel is fucking impressive.”

“I couldn’t help though-”

“And when have you ever on a hunt huh? All you’ve ever done is play your damn lute.” It’s a joke, a harmless tease that Jaskier knows he doesn’t mean and he laughs. Wet and strained sounding. But it eases his mind.

Geralt was good at that.

“True.” He wipes at his eyes but doesn’t otherwise move. “I’m so angry at myself though for freezing like that. Because I know she won’t follow me. Logically, I know she hasn’t followed us, she doesn’t care enough to. She even admitted they had only come for me because we were so close in proximity and they may as well. They didn’t even fly after me. I don’t know why i’m so fucking scared. Why I fucking saw her.”  
  
“Fear does weird things to the mind.” Geralt hums. Hand going to smooth over Jaskier’s shoulder before going back to his hair.

Nobody could go near his jaw still. It made his heart stop every time somebody even came near. But his shoulders were fine. Maybe it was because he had so thoroughly burnt one of them that it overtook the feeling of his mothers claws in both. 

“It doesn’t matter if you know they won’t follow you. They hurt you. Of course you’re still going to be scared. It’s fucked up.”

“I just want to move the fuck on and not be in so much fucking pain.” He admits. Barely breathing the words out and squeaks when Geralt hauls him up, pulling him to sit on his lap. Jaskier lets himself be arranged, so his head is under Geralt’s chin with his knee’s a little awkwardly pulled up. It’s nice though, and geralt pulls the blankets around him and tucks him in for good measure.

“I love you.” Is all he says. And Jaskier kisses his chest in return before settling in.

Geralt didn’t care as long as he was safe. And with that knowledge, something in his chest loosens.

-

“Up boys! Jaskier asked for training and I have time!” He’s woken from his doze by Yennefer banging on their door.

“What?” He yawns himself awake, giggling when Geralt just tightens his hold, pulling him closer.

“Up. Now. We’ll be outside. Jaskier I have your daggers.” And then he hears the witch leave.

“Fuck.” Geralt groans, nuzzling Jaskier’s shoulder.

“We should do what she asks before she turns us into toads.”

“Hmm. Life might be easier as a toad.”

“Would you still love me if we were toads?” Jaskier nuzzles the top of Geralt’s head.

“I’m not even dignifying that with a response.” Geralt drawls, making him giggle even as Geralt gently pushes him off and then up.

“You may as well train too. You can’t let Yennefer only teach me the dirty tricks.”

“You do know how to use a sword though. You trained this winter.” Geralt grunts as he puts his boots on as Jaskier does the same.

“I need a refresher course.” Jaskier shrugs. “I want to be ready.”

Geralt thinks about this, following Jaskier out of the room, grabbing his swords on the way. “We’ll work on blocking then.” He decides as they walk down the stairs and go outside. “Blocking and reactions.”

Jaskier was so glad he understood.

“Sounds like a plan!” He trills, going over to where Yennefer and Ciri were waiting for them. Yennefer was teaching Ciri dagger tricks, how to throw and catch them and the like. Both completely enthralled with a slowly growing group of watchers around them who are trying to act as if they aren’t. Mostly children.

“So, where are we starting?” He asks as he goes up. They’re just outside the tavern but the dirt path that acts as a road is spacious enough that they can all gather and people can still get past.

Jaskier watches as Geralt eyes the watchers who at this point were still lingering by the houses, trying to surreptitiously watch and not draw attention to themselves. Quietly, he reaches behind himself to tap at Geralt’s hand, waiting for his own reaction. If Geralt didn’t want to do this with people watching then they wouldn’t.

But all Geralt does is squeeze back, striding forward towards the largest group of children watching and drops down to one knee.

Oh. How did he always forget Geralt loved kids?

“Do you want to watch us train?” He asks quietly, and smiles when one of the older ones nods enthusiastically, stepping forward. They all look well fed at least. But they’re all massively dirty. And the girl who steps forward is missing a front tooth. She’s smiling though, and Geralt’s features soften. “Great. You have to promise to keep back though.Wouldn’t want any of you to get hurt.”

They all nod then, with wide eyes and slowly growing smiles that show how excited they are Geralt is even speaking to them. Obviously after helping the town he’d been heralded a hero. Just like he should be.

“Alright then.” Geralt nods, standing once again as he turns to Jaskier. “Ready then? Or are you training with Yenn first?”

“Hmm, i’de like to watch this. What are we going over?” Yennefer asks, unceremoniously sitting on the floor, dragging Ciri to sit next hair causing them both to giggle as they fall into the dirt. Thankfully it hadn’t rained in a while, and Jaskier’s chest eases now that Ciri is in eyesight.

“Blocking and reactions.” Geralt picks the daggers up and the short sword from where Yennefer had dropped them, frowning at the treatment of them which gets Jaskier’s heart to warm. He was so particular, and Jaskier really loved that about him.

He hands Jaskier the daggers first, letting him put them away in his boots where they usually rest before Jaskier takes the short sword from him. It feels a good weight in his hand and he swings it a little, getting his grip settled.

“Alright.” Geralt starts. “I’m going to use a uh. A stick.” He looks around until he finds one, probably fallen from one of the roofs given they were an odd mixture of thatch and slate. And he hefts it in his hands.

“I would be offended but really.” Jaskier gestures to the two swords still on Geralt’s back and grins when Geralt just shrugs. Almost sheepishly. They had to make do without training swords on hand.

“Okay so. Where do we begin.” He asks, and then almost shrieks as Geralt just comes at him.

It’s mostly muscle memory that has him bringing the sword up in front of his face, blocking the stick in its tracks. “Geralt!”

“Reactions.”

“You’re a brute.”

Geralt replies by jabbing him in the ribs with the end of the stick. “You’d be dead.”

“Dickhead.” He hisses, although it’s completely in jest as he swings the sword towards Geralt.

It’s nice, knowing he will never hit. And Geralt easily deflects it. “Good. Again.” 

Knowing he won’t hurt Geralt eases him into the training. And he’s able to let himself fight back and shake off the anxiety surrounding it. It helps too, knowing Geralt would never hurt him. It made this a lot easier. And he didn’t feel panicky at all.

Jaskier advances as Geralt steps backwards, eyes lighting up as Jaskier let’s out a snarl. He had meant to completely, but it helped get him in the headspace to train properly.

It helps move him forward though, swinging the sword as hard as he can towards Geralt’s face. 

Geralt parries, pushing him backwards as he blocks and then pushes with the stick. Causing Jaskier to have to shift his feet. He’s proud of himself for not stumbling, and obviously he remembered a lot more than he thought he did.

As he moves the training he had taken part of in Kaer Morhen comes back to him. As well as the stints of training he had taken before that from past decades when he had had to pester Geralt into teaching him.

It strikes him how different things were now and he is so grateful for that.

He ducks when Geralt tries to catch him by surprise. His heightened senses alerting him to the sound of the wind through the air as Geralt started to swing the stick at his head. Even though they weren’t as heightened as the witchers own, they were still a damn sight better than they would have been had he been human.

He lunges then from his ducked position at Geralt’s legs, hissing in irritation when Geralt jumps backwards out of the way.

That sound hadn’t been forced that time and he panics. Dropping to his knees.

He hadn’t even considered what his stronger instincts would do to him when he fought. Fuck. He didn’t actually want to hurt Geralt, that was absurd. But the anger at not hitting him had ignited something. Maybe it was the protective instinct working overdrive. Or his prey drive. 

Fuck. Geralt was not prey.

Swallowing hard he stands on shaky feet. He refused point blank to let his instincts control him like that. Sure, there were some he couldn’t shake like the protective one. So thankfully that came in useful. But this one was one he fucking refused to feel.

Geralt was not prey. Nobody was pray. Nothing. Not even when hunting for their dinner.

It’s as if his willingness to try and fight had awakened something in him. He hadn’t felt this those weeks ago when surrounded by wargs. Or with the cockatrice. Or even when hunting for their dinner with Geralt.

It was because he was choosing to fight and spar. Probably a response to what he had been through. His flight response turning into fight.

“I’m fine.” He grits out when Geralt comes over to him. “Let’s go again.

He’d explain later.

Powering through the sickness he feels at the disgust he feels at himself. He lunges forward again. Biting back a second growl when he doesn’t hit.

Turning rapidly, he blocks Geralt's hit to his back. Relying on his hearing there as Geralt comes from behind him after Jaskier had lunged and missed. As he does, he fights against his instincts. Tapping into the protective one to combat against it. 

Dodging one of Geralt’s attacks he goes for his side, low and dirty as his sudden swiftness throws Geralt off. And something in him smiles at that, able to see his prey stumble. He almost vomits at the thought despite how small that feeling is compared to his prey drive. But it’s enough, and he tries to call it up to the forefront.

He had learnt over his time that he could use them against one another when he really needed to. And although it was tiring, he was able to do it. And he’s glad he has decades and decades of practise.

He’d definitely be sleeping soundly tonight though.

Jabbing, he draws back, setting his feet in the dirt squarely to be able to take on Geralt’s direct hit. Sword coming up in a block that splinters the stick in half with how heavy Geralt’s swing was.

Jaskier watches as it splinters. Forcing himself to drop his own sword to his side. Arm jerking even as he does though to swing back. He feels sick with it, sight fogging and head dizzying as he feels a surge of aggression, wanting to finish Geralt off.

But no. Looking forward at Geralt’s hair in disarray, golden eyes shining but questioning as he goes to Jaskier to steady him on his feet. Finally, his protective instinct triumphs against his prey drive.

He’s able to overpower it thankfully quickly. With his situation, he had been scared he wouldn’t be able to. But as Geralt comes over all he feels is a rush of love and the urge to protect the man in front of him.

“Okay?” Geralt asks, quiet enough nobody else would be able to hear and Jaskier nods.

“Better than I thought. Okay. Again.” He pauses though when Geralt just sort of stands there. “Well go on then, find another stick!”

“‘M not a fucking dog.” He hears Geralt mumbles even as he goes to look for one and he laughs.

They spar together for about half an hour. Drawing a bigger crowd of both children, a few gangly teenagers and adults once their shops close, although Jaskier suspects they had all closed early. And they all end up either seated or standing in a circle around them both. Chattering and cheering when one of them gets a particularly good hit in.

Ciri and Yennefer had taken to playing cards even as they’re seated next to one another rather than opposite. Although Ciri keeps shouting out bets, getting increasingly more ridiculous the longer they go on.

Some of the watchers jokingly join in on the betting, and Jaskier has to adjust to the shouting as he focuses on Geralt. It’s a good exercise in honing his senses, something he had been relying on in the wrong way recently. He had been too busy focusing on the wrong and non-existent threat rather than be actually helpful.

“Alright i’m done.” He taps out eventually. Geralt had been getting more and more hits in the longer they had gone on, and he can feel himself wearing a little thin. Despite being a dragon he still couldn’t keep up with a witcher. Especially with the emotional fighting against himself he had also been doing.

He lets himself fall to the floor dramatically, rolling over the cards by Ciri and Yennefer’s feet laughing when they smack him around the head. Listening to the laughter that follows his fall.

“Alright. Let’s give these people a proper show Geralt.” Yennefer stands, dusting her dress off to the ‘ooh’s’ of the crowd.

“Oh go away.” Jaskier bats at her, although he hands his daggers over when she makes grabby hands at him, he’s not sure where hers are, before he settles next to Ciri. Dealing out another hand of cards for them both.

They don’t need them though as Yennefer and Geralt start immediately to fight. And Jaskier finds himself too busy watching to do much else.

He picks up tricks from Yennefer just from watching. Eyes following the daggers in her hands as she forgets whatever had been taught to her about form and posture and just goes for it. Using her elbows to jab at Geralt’s sides when she gets close enough, or her knees as she tries to trip him. Hands a little clumsy on the blades but still steady enough as she swipes. There’s a lot of backhanded stabbing going on that he takes particular note of.

They’re well matched given how quick Yennefer is, and Jaskier gathers they used to this back when they were still together as it’s more like a dance than anything else. Although he thinks this was more a form of foreplay for them and shuts that line of thinking right down. Geralt is focused though, eyes hard and mouth a hard line as Yennefer frowns right back.

It seems a lot more dangerous now than it had been when he was fighting. Given how willing Yennefer is to actually hit Geralt. But she tires quickly, and suddenly it’s over when Geralt is able to disarm her with a quick hit to the back that has her stumbling. Far more used to using magic than weapons.

When he goes to steady her, getting a small smile in thanks, the crowd cheers. And it’s as if something’s broken as the children go surging up to Geralt.

“Can you teach us too?” It’s the older child from before. Hair now pulled back into messy pigtails. 

He falters, unsure of what to do. And Jaskier watches his eyes widen and look up to the adults watching who all look as lost for an answer as he does. They’re more nervous than the children, which Jaskier expects. But none are sneering or frowning at him, and they're all trying their best to look brave.

“Uh-”

“Food’s ready!” Geralt turns to the alderman gratefully, Jaskier can tell by the tension leaving his shoulders and he claps his hands together after he tosses the stick aside, that is now nothing much more than an oversized toothpick.

He dusts his hands off before turning to the kids that are all looking disappointed and on the verge of loudly complaining. “Are we all going to eat then?” It’s amazing how easily he distracts them, their eyes all go wide and then nod, following him dutifully back into the tavern where the alderman is laughing.

Jaskier really should learn his name, fuck.

He stands, helping Ciri up and he laughs at Yennefer's bemused expression.

“So weird.” Yennefer sighs as he falls into step with her and Ciri, dusting himself off before grabbing Ciri around the shoulders to draw her into his side. Squeezing once to get her huffing at him but she only moves out from under it when they get to the door.

“Hmm.” Jaskier can’t really say anything in response. Because he forgets sometimes, but it’s never surprising. He had decades of watching Geralt be gentle with Roach and any animals or monsters they encountered that he didn’t have to hurt. And on top of that, he saw how Geralt had interacted with children whenever they found them when travelling. And all of this was before Ciri. Which had made him even gentler.

“So. Is anybody gonna tell us how Geralt got to be so revered here?” He calls when they get back into the tavern which he finds has almost been transformed. Most of the tables have been pushed together and there’s food in the middle. It’s not much, but it’s definitely enough for all of them.

“Jaskier.” Geralt frowns, although he kicks out the chair next to him from where he had been seated, the alderman sitting on his other side. So Jaskier sits, the two sets next to him then filled by Yennefer and Ciri while the rest get filled by the few children and their families. Nobody waits to tuck in, and there’s a small pile of coin in a bowl in the middle to contribute towards the food that Jaskier throws a few in himself. Not wanting free food on top of the free rooms.

“Oh really. It’s quite a tale.” The alderman leans forward, piling his plate and Jaskier follows his lead.

“Do tell. Although first, I never got your name.” Ciri snorts at him and he kicks her under the table. Better to admit it now than later when it would be just Jaskier’s luck and the topic of the aldermans name would come up and Jaskier would be made a fool of.

“Larson.” He nods with a smile. “Are you going to be writing of this tale?”

“Oh of course.” Jaskier leans forward. “No matter how much Geralt complains.”

“Shut up.” Geralt grumbles, and Jaskier just laughs, knocking him in the side with his elbow. He wants to kiss him, wants to take his hand and squeeze. But he knows Geralt wouldn’t be comfortable doing that here so he keeps his hands to himself. 

The food is amazing for such a small town. And he eats as he listens to Larson tell the tale.

“Well as you could tell on your way into town, our village is surrounded by swamps. We’re pretty much in the middle of one giant one with how close they all are together. And given how small our village is well, it wasn’t hard for the monsters to start coming into town when they got desperate for food.”

Jaskier listens intently, taking the small notebook from his belt as he starts writing. Food half way forgotten.

“Go on.”

He’s vaguely aware of Geralt astutely ignoring them, because if he could blush he definitely would be as the man practically sings his praises. Distracting himself by making faces at the children from across the table in between making apologetic ones at the parents for distracting the kids from their food.

“So we have four deaths on our hands soon enough as the months grow colder, and we’re considering moving the village completely which would be a massive feat in itself and not the wisest decision. But, we didn’t want any more deaths. And it's my job to keep the people safe, and after somebody died on a hunting party moving was one of the last options. We didn’t have the resourcing to build a wall. And that would also then obstruct travel and we rely on trading a lot.”

Jaskier liked this man more and more. Anyone in authority that worked to keep his people safe was a good man in his book. And that’s only confirmed with his treatment of Geralt.

Jaskier was definitely going to write him into this very dramatically. A man of the people. A hero in his own right.

“So we were planning to move, when Geralt rides in. And he wasn’t planning to stay long. But when we told him our predicament well. He rode right out and killed the nest of them! It took him a few days mind. Although we were very happy to house him.” He bites off a mouthful of the bread he’s holding. “And then once he was finished and all patched up, he left without taking all his payment! Just enough to buy food in the next town and nothing more!”

Jaskier elbows him again then but softly. “Well he is known for his secret generosity.”

“Shut up bard.” Geralt leans back, but he’s not frowning. And Jaskier beams.

“I’ll have to write it into my next ballad. The subject of which, will be this very encounter! So.” He leans past Geralt. “How did he look when he came back from the fights? Roughed up? Especially bloody?”

“Oh always. Refused help though.” Jaskier just shakes his head dramatically and Larson laughs. “Although we expected that from your saga. Which I was wondering if you could play for us at some point.” 

“I definitely can tomorrow. All day if you want me to. I could perhaps help those who wanted to learn? But I must bow out tonight. Travel tired me out more than I expected.”

“That’s more than okay.” Oh Jaskier is definitely going to be writing good things about him. “Do you require a bath?”

“Yes.” He choruses with Geralt and the alderman raises an eyebrow but shrugs.

“One shall be sent up then.” He leans back.

“I’ll bid you goodnight then.” Jaskier smiles as genially as he can. Standing with a small bow.

He ruffles Ciri’s hair on the way past. Ignoring the pang of pain in his chest at leaving both her and Geralt downstairs since Geralt doesn't follow him straight away. Still eating. Ciri and Yennefer would probably stay downstairs for a decent while after them. They had already been asked for games of gwent during the dinner as he knows neither could resist a game.

A lady follows him up with a bucket of water, followed by a few younger boys also carrying hot water and he smiles at them as wide as he can at them as he unlocks their room and they go over and fill the tub in the corner. He stands in front of his nest, hoping if he chatters away enough they won’t notice. Especially since he always put stuff back before they left. Hopefully they’d think they were mistaken if they did take note of it.

“Thank you so much for all of this.” He babbles. “I am honoured to be in this lovely town. I’ll send the payment down for this in the morning. And no, no protests. I won’t have it.

It’s enough to get them smiling and leaving quickly. And once they’re gone he shuts the door behind them and sighs heavily. Leaning his forehead against the door for a second before pushing himself backwards and starts to strip.

The tiredness hits him all at once and he almost falls with the weight of it on his shoulders and he manages to slink into the tub. Sighing happily as the hot water soothes over his aching muscles he fully submerges under the water for a split second, coming up to wipe the water from his eyes before reclining back against the edge. Tilting his head back. All he does is listen to the sounds of the tavern underneath him. Smiling when he hears Ciri shout in victory and then as an aspiring bard starts to play a harp in the corner. And eventually, he hears Geralt come up the stairs. Knowing his heavy footfalls anywhere.

“My own?” He calls out, before Geralt even opens the door. And he smiles to himself when the footfalls get quicker and the door is opened and then rapidly closed again. And Jaskier can hear the snick of the lock. “There you are my love.”

“Care for company?” Geralt asks, voice quiet. Sounding just as tired as Jaskier feels and Jaskier nods.

“Always. Come join me. Although you might have to heat the water again.”

It’s a tight fit in the tub. And Jaskier ends with his feet in Geralt’s lap and his knees awkwardly pressed against the sides of the tub but he doesn’t mind.

“You’re oddly tired.” Jaskier cracks open one eye as Geralt easily casts igni to heat the bath water again and hisses happily when it gets a lot hotter. “Never known you to turn down a performance.” He raises an eyebrow, smirk turning up the corner of his mouth and Jaskier splashes him a little.

“Shut up. Training took a lot out of me mentally.”

“I was worried there for a second.” Geralt nods. “You looked out of it.”

“I felt it. Remember when I took that boar down?” He winces when he remembers how out of control he had felt. Felt the blood in his claws and on his clothes, practically between his teeth.

“Yes.”

“I felt like that fighting you.” He rolls his shoulders. “Only for a little bit.” He’s quick to assure. “But I still felt it. Fighting against it has taken it out of me.”

Geralt is silent for a few agonising seconds and Jaskier immediately starts to panic. Because of course this would panic Geralt and repulse him. Jaskier had just admitted to wanting to attack him, to hurt him.

But if he didn’t say anything he would never be able to live with himself. Keeping something like that from Geralt, his beloved, would wreck him. Because he knows he would never hurt him. He would never ever hurt his bonded. But not telling Geralt would be like a betrayal. Geralt needed to know.

“And how do you feel now?” Jaskier looks at him properly. His tone had been careful, but surprisingly not accusatory like Jaskier expected. And when Jaskier looks he finds Geralt looking him over.

“Like I want to rip my own guts for even thinking about hurting you.”

“Then that’s fine. As long as you don’t want to hurt me now?” Geralt raises an eyebrow and Jaskier rolls his eyes.

“I always want to smack you whenever you\re being a dick but other than that.”

“Well that I always knew.” Geralt drawls. But he reaches out, tugging Jaskier by his unburnt shoulder and Jaskier lets himself be moved around so he's in between Geralt's spread legs with his back to his chest. Water goes sloshing over onto the floor but it doesn’t go near their stuff so Jaskier doesn't mind. It’d dry.

“I know you’d never hurt me Jask.” He can feel Geralt’s chest rumble as he speaks near silently into Jaskier’s ear. “All it was was a response to fighting again.”

Oh how Jaskier loved him. He supposed that Geralt had been through this, what the trials and being shaped into being a witcher. Of course he would understand, even if he never really spoke of it.

Maybe they should at some point. If Geralt wants to.

Having his unwavering trust warms Jaskier to his toes. Easing his mind. Geralt had faith in him and trusted him completely. And if Geralt believed in him and gave him his trust, something not easily earned. Then Jaskier must deserve it.

“I’de hurt myself before ever hurting you.” He says it fiercely, and they both know it’s a promise.

“I know Jask.”

“It’s over now. Thankfully. I finished the fight fine. No murder rampages.” He waves his hand. Smiling when he feels Geralt silently chuckle and leans his head back on Geralt’s shoulder. His own show of trust by showing Geralt his throat and under his chin. 

Geralt doesn’t touch it, like Jaskier knows he won't. He just wraps his arms around Jaskier's waist underneath his arms. Nuzzling his nose against Jaskier’s temple before leaning their heads together.

“Glad you didn’t. Although in different circumstances, I feel like that’d be a true sight to see.”

Jaskier laughs at his low tone, nipping at his jaw. “Only you would.” He kisses the spot, and as he does, knowing his teeth are so close to Geralt’s throat, a bout of anxiety creeps into the back of his mind. “You would tell me if you were worried or having second thoughts right?” Closing his eyes he carries on. “I wouldn’t mind. And I know you don’t like speaking that much but, this is important shit.”

Sighing, he rolls his head a little. Feeling a little better as Geralt puts his arms around his own, reaching out to hold his hands, linking their fingers together easily enough given how large Geralt’s hands are despite them cradling the backs of Jaskier's hands rather than the front. “I would.” He rumbles. “But i’m not worried. I trust you, and I love you.”

“Alright.” Jaskier can accept that. He trusted Geralt to have a more than rational mind when it came to things like this. And if Geralt wasn’t worried, then he’d try not to be either. No matter how bad he felt.

“Come on.” Geralt kisses the side of his neck. “Waters getting cold.”

So Jaskier stands, shivering a little as he hits the air and gets out. Holding a hand out, Geralt lets himself be helped up and Jaskier smiles at the indulgence before he grabs a towel and dries them both off.

Wrapping it around Geralt’s back he cuddles in close, letting Geralt take it from his hands to wrap around Jaskier’s shoulders. It barely covers either of them, but the gesture is there and Jaskier takes a corner from him to dry Geralt’s chest, staying close as Geralt works gently on his back and then burnt shoulder.

It’s cold, but Jaskier doesn’t mind as he pushes further against Geralt, chuckling as Geralt noses at his hair, leaning down to nip at his ear as Jaskier tilts his head into it. Kissing Geralt’s chest he takes the towel from him given Geralt had abandoned drying either of them. And kisses Geralt’s shoulder and starts to dry him properly, laughing when he ruffles Geralt’s hair dry leaving it a mess on top of his head.

Geralt just carries on kissing his neck and his shoulders, licking the still damp skin as Jaskier dries him. He kneels on the wooden floor uncaring when he dries Geralt’s legs. Too tired to properly stand now or crouch as the weight of the day hits him. He doesn’t think about what he must like, naked and willing on his knees before Geralt until he gets to Geralt’s thighs, looking at his dick that had started to take interest. 

“I would my love.” He kisses Geralt’s thigh. “But I wasn’t lying to Larson. I’m tired.”

Geralt just hums, leaning down to pull him up by the elbows so he’s standing and guides him over to the nest, pressing Jasier down onto it before handing him a pair of pants that he wiggles on slowly and sluggishly, getting his feet caught a few times. “Mind if I take care of myself?”

Jaskier yawns, mind foggy but he smiles. Moving over and wrapping himself in one of the furs before pressing himself against the wall on his side, waiting for Geralt to climb into the nest and settle. “Never.”

He watches as Geralt gets settled, sitting up against the wall still completely naked until Jaskier tuts and tries to throw one of the furs over the bottom of his legs at least, hand getting caught in the fabric until Geralt takes over and situations it over his legs.

“Better?” He hums with a light chuckle at Jaskier’s unnecessary care, reaching off to the side where he had put their bags within reach and Jaskier nods.

“Hm.”

Settling back after rifling around for a few seconds, Jaskier watches as he uncorks the vial of oil he had retrieved, pouring some over his hand before setting it down out of the way, the slicked up hand going to his cock.

Jaskier hears the hitch in his breath at the contact, and then the hiss when he gets straight to it. Tightening his fist and stroking quickly, spreading his legs as much as he can as he uses his other hands to wipe off some of the oil and reach down to squeeze his balls. 

“That’s it.” Jaskier purrs trying to look everywhere at once. Unsure of whether to focus on the shift of his hand or the way his mouth is hanging open just slightly, lips full and tongue heavy on his lower lip as his eyes slip closed. “Oh you’re such a sight my love.”

“Jask.” Geralt speeds his fist up, thumb flicking out to brush over the head of his now leaking and straining dick, hand on his balls pressed to them as his fingers worked their way back, pressing into what Jaskier could assume was the soft spot between his balls and hole which gets a keen to fall from his lips as his hips start to shallowly shift into the contact.

“Hmm. So beautiful my darling.” He really wished he wasn’t so tired, because this is a beautiful sight. With every stroke Geralt pants out a breath, whining near silently with every brush of his thumb as he continues his fingers down past his perineum, reaching awkwardly to squeeze at the own meat of his ass before moving back to squeeze his own balls, bucking into the feeling as if it weren’t his own hand doing it.

“So hot, are you aching for it? So needy.” He reaches out, hand feeling far too heavy as he caresses Geralt’s face, warmth spreading through him as Geralt leans into the touch and moans, eyes closed tight. “That’s it. So beautiful for me, speed up. Come on, want to see you come for me my own.”

Geralt grunts and Jaskier quickly reaches down, pinching his nipple and he comes like that with the shock of sensation, stripes of come painting his chest and he moans, head thumping back against the wall as he kicks a leg out.

“Fuck Jask.” He sighs once he comes down from his orgasm, rolling his head to look down at Jaskier who smiles up at him. He smooths the flat of his palm over where he had pinched, hand wandering down to run through the mess on Geralt’s chest, bringing that to his mouth to lap it up. Giggling when Geralt groans again, dick giving a twitch.

“Hmm, beautiful. My darling.”

Geralt just grunts, grabbing his discarded shirt from where he had thrown it before and mops himself up, throwing the shirt in the direction of the tub once he’s done. “Sleep now.”

“Only if you join me.” He yawns again, wide and loud and he snuggles down into the blankets, reaching out as soon as Geralt starts to lie down too. Geralt just rolls into his arms, smiling at him indulgently and Jaskier smiles back, tilting his head up to be kissed and Geralt kisses him deeply but soft all the same.

“Go to sleep my love.”

And Jaskier does.

-

The next day finds them back outside again. Or well, him, Geralt and two separate gaggles of children and teenagers. Yennefer and Ciri were inside napping the day away while they had the beds available.

He was on the floor leaning against the tavern wall with a few older kids and teenagers around him in a semicircle. All holding some semblance of instrument while Geralt was in the middle of the path again, teaching the kids that could some basic defence.

It hurt a little less having Ciri behind a few doors than it had been the past few weeks. Knowing she was safe, and hearing her lightly snoring if he focused hard enough helped.

And having the distraction of Geralt being adorable with the children around him, gently correcting their stances and praising them for their good work was also incredibly helpful.

He’d had a few nightmares, ones quickly soothed upon waking knowing his beloved was in his arms, but despite them he had woken clear headed.

It’s as if the shock of his feelings yesterday had somewhat brought him back to reality. It had been the wake up call he had needed to getting back on the right track. He would be training more when they were back to travelling without an audience, so he would see if his new clear headedness would carry on after that.

“Bard.” One of the younger kids in his circle prompts from where he had been watching Geralt over their shoulders and he snaps back to the lesson.

“Yes sorry. Now here, look. For those of you with strings. This is an A Minor.” He demonstrates, fingers finding the chord as easy as he breathes. And the singular lute that belongs to the oldest girl is passed around the few of them who want to learn it, each child strumming it a few times before passing it on.

He was going to write to Oxenfurt and get some sent. There would be a gaggle of bards from this town, he’d make sure of it.

Surprisingly, he held no feelings towards Oxenfurt that weren’t neutral or positive at best. Maybe it was because he knew that the offending professor would definitely be fired and run from the city. And although he knows he wouldn’t be able to go back there for a while lest he really fuck himself over emotionally. He still held it in high regard. It wasn’t Oxenfurt’s or the universities fault for what happened to him. He only hoped that they were all safe.

“And okay and the wind instruments.” There’s only one, and only one child who desperately wanted to play the flute. “Here.” He reaches out to demonstrate the finger positions and the boy watches eagerly with a nod. Well, he wasn’t the master of the seven arts for nothing. And although he’s rusty, he still remembers the correct positions for each note although he’s glad he doesn’t have to play.

Wind instruments were never his favourite. But he’s passable enough that the boy doesn’t notice anything off.

“Good.” He praises when the boy gets it right first time.

It’s nice having their attention. He had almost become a teacher after all. And seeing their hopeful and triumphant faces with everything they get right warms his heart. It’s nice, knowing he’s able to help them and teach them something worthwhile.

But as he looks over at Geralt, who he finds staring at him and who only looks away once Jaskier smiles, he knows he’d never give his life up for the world. Not that he’d ever want to. He’d never want to be away from his bonded. And he’d never make Geralt waste away unfulfilled in the university while he taught.

Tearing his gaze away, he picks his lute back up from his lap and goes over another chord. Spending the rest of the afternoon there. Teaching and basking in the sun.

The kids are receptive to the teaching, and he makes a promise to write up some basic scales and chords for them all tomorrow and give them a written music lesson while he was at it. 

Geralt continues to train the children around him over the way. Taking frequent breaks as the sun climbs through the sky to share a few water skins and snacks which Geralt always eats with at least one child on his knee as he sits cross legged in the dirt.

Jaskier had tried to get his own group to stop like that, but they were too old and at that headstrong age where they would not be distracted from what they wanted, and had just scowled at his attempts at breaks. Intent on getting him to teach them everything he knows.

He admires their spirit. But it’s a long four and something hours. 

When the sun starts to set dinner is once again called. And Jaskier is thankful for the excuse to get up and stretch and stop teaching. And for the fact that this dinnertime is a little more ordinary as he sits at one of the now put back normally tables in the corner of the tavern. 

Larson had only waved at him from his position at the bar, surrounded by paperwork. And Jaskier was thankful he was distracted. Last night had been lovely, but if he wanted to perform after his food then he would need an hour of quiet at least to eat.

Most of the time he could talk somebody’s ear off. But after a day of teaching, no matter how easy, he needed a break.

“Good day?” Ciri yawns her question when she sits down with Yennefer. Sitting next to Jaskier and leaning against him, Geralt still not come in from outside yet.

“Very. Good sleep?”

She nods, and Yennefer yawns but nods too. “We needed it.”

“Well you’ve got two more nights to further relax.” He drawls. “Or are you going to stay up all night playing gwent again?”

“Hm. I like that idea.” Ciri drawls right back, and he can feel her smiling against his shoulder. He felt a sense of peace wash over him as she leans against him. Just having the second of his bonded there was enough to soothe his soul. And he feels even calmer when Geralt comes in, coming straight over to sit next to Yennefer before he locks his and Jaskier’s ankles together underneath the table. Having them both at the table with him, he felt calmer than he had done in days.

The surge of protectiveness he normally feels around the pair fizzes brightly in his chest, burning comfortingly. He loved them so much.

“Maybe i’ll play a few rounds before I head to bed after my set hmm.” He leans his head against Ciri’s and feels her shake her own.

“You play like shit Jask. Wouldn’t be fair on you.”

He gasps, all mock offence to stop himself from giggling. “Rude.”

“True though.” Geralt grunts, and Jaskier kicks his ankle gently.

“Fuck off. Both of you.”

“I could always help Jaskier.” Yennefer says, all faux sweetness, resting her chin on her hands. “Fuck knows you’ll need all the help you can get.”

“I can leave.” He pouts. Making as if to get up and Ciri just wraps her arms around him with a whine.

“Stop it.”

“Never sweet pea. But fine i’ll stay.” He settles back down, wrapping his arms around Ciri’s shoulders and she snuggles in deeper. It really felt as if he’d barely seen her lately despite them being together almost constantly. But he hadn’t been able to do this. Mostly due to him hiding himself away, he realises as he thinks. Waiting for their food.

In a want to make sure he wouldn’t hurt her he had put distance between them. Thankfully disguised by his excuse of wanting her to bond even further with Yennefer. But he knew that he was selfish enough for that to never be the reason. No matter how much he wanted them to bond. He would never purposefully distance himself for the cause.

But after the training yesterday, and how he was able to prove to himself that he wouldn’t hurt either of them he feels as though he can let himself get close now.

“I’ll play a few games.” Jaskier hears Geralt grunt. “Maybe we can play while Jaskier performs.”

And normally he’d say something about not wanting them distracted while he played. But his brain is fuzzy, full of syrup. And he slowly tries to blink the fuzziness away.

“You with us bard?” He turns to Yennefer and nods. Unable to speak, but he can hear her and at least move his head.

“Almost lost you to time again.” Geralt knocks their ankles together again and the contact is comforting, and almost grounding. Ciri’s arms are still around his waist and she squeezes him, very almost too tight and he smiles down at her.

“Almost.” He wants to joke but can’t get any more than that past his teeth. It’s enough though.

“Good. Look. If you’re that upset. We’ll let you play a few rounds.” Yennefer sighs, and that gets him to smile.

“No. I’de rather perform.” Slowly his voice was coming back to him. And he’s proud of himself for not succumbing to the lost time. He feels even better about it when stew is brought over and placed in front of them. It smells amazing, especially with the bread provided and he definitely wouldn’t have wanted to miss this.

They’re distracted then by food being brought over by the barkeep and his wife who both smile widely.

“Are you going to perform tonight then Jaskier?” The wife asks, setting a plate of bread down and he nods.

“Couldn’t keep me away.” His words are stilted but she hopes he takes his jovial tone for the truth it is and she nods. Head cocked at the stiltedness.

“You don’t have to if you’re still tired. You did entertain the rascals all day.”

“Ah no. I skipped my bardic duties yesterday. Sorry, just a little spit caught in my throat. I would be delighted to perform. Are we to have a full audience?” He makes a point of clearing his throat which seems to satiate her concern and she smiles.

“The fullest the tavern will have been in years probably. You won’t be able to keep the kids away either. Now eat up all of, gather your strength. We here like to party till the wee hours.”

“Oh this will be amazing.” Yennefer smirks, and it’s mimicked by the wife before she bustles off and Jaskier turns to Yennefer.

“So, made friends?”

“Janice plays a delightfully wicked game of gwent.” Yennefer replies, smirk growing wider. “A woman after my own heart to be sure.”

“And taken.” Geralt rolls his eyes, gently elbowing her in the ribs. “You’re lucky i’m used to making sure Jask keeps it in his pants.”

“Wasn’t what you were doing last night.” Jaskier mutters under his breath quiet enough Ciri can't hear as she starts on her food but just loud enough that it makes Geralt smirk into his bowl. Jaskier preens to himself at that. Causing any form of smile on Geralt’s face was the highlight of his day, and the pride he feels at being able to make his beloved smile so easily warms his core.

He twines their legs together more intricately under the table as best he can, banging his knee on the table a few times and wincing but not caring as he ends up with one foot trapped between both of Geralt’s own.

“Ow. Also gross.” Ciri grumbles when he accidentally nudges her ankle with his faffing but she stops grousing when he presses a kiss to her roots and presses their shoulders together firmly.

Maybe she had missed him a little bit too.

“Sorry.” He smiles down at her, not really meaning it given that it definitely didn’t hurt and he knew she was only complaining out of habit.

“No you’re not.” She knew him just as well.

“No i’m not. However, i’m definitely gross. You were right.”

“Of course i’m right.” She sniffs and tosses her hair, and oh that’s a tone that’s all Yennefer. Stopping himself from giggling at the haughty gesture he goes back to eating and stays quiet until the meal is over.

Once he’s finished he feels a lot better. And he stands without warning once he’s done to awkwardly climb over Ciri. Lute awkwardly held above them all to keep it from knocking anything over.

“Are you all dancing tonight? Or shall I keep things less rowdy for your games?” He asks once he’s at the head of the table, smirking over at Ciri as she scowls and fixes her hair form where he’d ruffled it in his clambering.

“I’m not dancing.” Geralt is the first to speak up and Jaskier rolls his eyes.

“Well that I know.” He rolls his eyes, affectionate term almost falling from the tip of his tongue before he fights it back. Not sure how comfortable Geralt would be with a term of endearment here.

“I won’t be dancing.” Yennefer tilts her head. “Janice owes me a few games and some coin on top of that.”

“I’m also owed coin.” Ciri shrugs and Jaskier is both proud and worried about how good she had gotten at gambling. More to the current point, that means no jigs tonight then.

“As you all wish.” He bows exaggeratedly, beaming sarcastically at Geralt and Yennefer’s rolled eyes before going over to the centre of the room.

It’s not packed like yesterday, but with how every head turns his way and a few children excitedly rush out of the door, already shouting, he’s sure it’ll get there.

“Good evening everyone. I am Jaskier, and I hope you’ll join me in some songs this evening!” 

He gets a cheer for that and grins. “If you have any requests, send them my way in between songs. But for today, I think I should open with a classic don’t you?” He winks at the crowd then as they watch him, and then with a mischievous smirk over to Geralt he starts a round of Toss A Coin.

By song four the patrons are singing and clapping along, stamping their feet to the louder parts as more people from the village filter in. The kids he had taught that afternoon are right at the front, circling around some of the younger children who are dancing, swinging one another around, laughter only adding to his songs as he flounces around the tavern. Going from the floor to bar stools to tables and back again.

The pure joy he feels from performing sings through his veins, and the attention he receives for it have his instincts preening too. Although not as much as they had been, and that relief fuels him to play even harder, even louder. Fill his songs with even more enthusiasm.

He stomps along to their clapping when he’s perched on a table, the one next to his bonded but not attached so he doesn’t disturb their game of gwent. Although he knows he has their attention as he feels it in his bones. Their love and trust in him practically radiates from them as they watch him, distracted from their game.

Winking at them, he jumps back off the table, light on his feet in a way he only feels when he’s got his wings and it’s unexpected given how heavy he had felt lately. It feels good though, and he puts it down to the warm reception he’s getting, and the attention he feels from his bonded in between turns. And playing always helped too, music a balm to his very soul no matter what he was singing or playing.

Light on his feet now, he dances around the tables. Almost playing with the tavern goers as they clap along, some getting up to dance and join the children and they whirl around him, some patting his shoulders as they go.

There’s a decent group of people around the gwent table too. Probably a couple of games going. Not that he would know given how much he really didn’t like gwent and how little he paid attention to it. He’d argue it was to keep his instincts in check, not wanting to pick up gambling and have them take over and start hoarding coin. But really, it just bored him to tears. 

Shifting his attention away from the tables he goes back to the head of the room, bowing and swaying as he plays, music thrumming through his bones, moving him around. He can’t stay still. And for the first time since his kidnapping, he feels the itch at his back that means he wants to fly. It’s as if being so light on his feet had reminded him about being up in the air. 

It terrifies him instantly. Just the idea. And his fingers fumble on the strings for a second before he finds his place again, thankful that nobody seemed to notice as they continue dancing and singing along. 

The terror he feels doesn’t leave, and he tenses back up. But he continues to play, not wanting to let that stop him. Because he owed these people a damn good show, and he hadn’t flown for years before the last winter. He could put off flying for as long as he wanted. This wasn’t an issue for him right now.

The fear though brings up the memories he had had while flying though, the pure terror at the idea of being chased, and the pain. And with it, his burn shoulder twinges, and his jaw smarts with the phantom feeling of his mother's claws there. But he plays through it, like he had always done. And if he plays automatically, well, at least he’s still present in the room.

He plays for about an hour longer. Pushing himself to continue as he keeps playing for the patrons who don’t seem to want him to stop. And he wouldn’t stop if they didn’t want him to. They had treated them with such kindness and welcoming that they deserved everything he could give. No matter how tired and anxious he now was. Thankfully the fear had shifted when nobody had come barging through the door, and although now he’s on alert as he plays, it’s still better than he had felt.

But it’s Janice who stops them eventually, telling him to wind it down given the last hour and he ends on a ballad that’s more spoken word than anything else before putting his lute down.

“Thank you all. We’re still here tomorrow!” He finishes with, before he escapes upstairs. Leaving Geralt, Yennefer and Ciri to their games.

He doesn’t feel bad enough to ask Geralt to accompany him back upstairs. He’s just exhausted once again. So once he gets into their room he strips to his underclothes and climbs into the nest, wrapping himself up cozily.

The comfort it provides turns his body to jelly as he relaxes at the familiar smells of their things surrounding him. The same blankets they had had forever in his nest, it calms his instincts and anxiety to something controllable as he rests his head, burying into the blankets and the smell. The smell of home and safety.

This is why he always loved having a nest. They were a sense of home he had never really felt anywhere else before reuniting and making up with Geralt. They were a constant in his life that he knows can never be taken from him. The blanket may change, and the location constantly did. But the coziness would always be the same.

He smells Geralt before he hears him at the door, the usual thunderstorm and sweat mix. So he doesn’t bother getting up when the door opens.

“You could have stayed downstairs.” He mutters, not moving from where his nose is buried in the blankets.

“It’s like you keep forgetting that i’m not gonna leave you on your own.”

Jaskier feels himself blush at that. Instantly giddy with the sureness of Geralt’s tone. “Well i’m only upstairs.”

“Too far.” Geralt grunts as he snatches one of the blankets, causing Jaskier to hiss at the coldness on his legs which Geralt chuckles at before reaching over to grab one from behind Jaskier to throw back over his legs and Jaskier fusses with it for a second to tuck it around his feet.

“Love that you’re a secret romantic.” Jaskier yawns.

“If you tell anyone I won’t fuck you for a year.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it my love.” Geralt settles down in the nest, blanket thrown over his waist as he slings his arm over Jaskier. “You comfortable?”

“Yes.” Geralt smiles and then frowns. “Also apparently, Yennefer wanted us to stay here for so long because she’s needed back at Aretuza. And she wanted some time with Ciri somewhere safe before she left.”

“Oh.” Jaskier frowns too. He’d be sad to see her go, it felt like she hadn’t been with them for any time at all. And this was very sudden, he hadn’t realised she had communication with Aretuza, although he knows that’s very stupid of him to think she would not be in contact.

Like Geralt, she could not resist getting involved with the affairs of the world no matter how much she said she didn’t.

“Does Ciri know?” He asks eventually when Geralt is quiet and he nods. “Okay, that’s good. Is she okay?”

“She’s used to Yen being needed elsewhere most of the time. She’s okay. She always known she’ll come back.”

“We’d cross hell or high water for that girl.” Jaskier nods and Geralt smiles.

“Wrapped around her little finger.”

“Nowhere i’de rather be.” Jaskier shrugs. “Okay, is she leaving tomorrow?”

“No. She’ll leave the morning we set out travelling. She told Aretuza to wait.”

Jaskier chuckles. “Of course she did. Alright. Well. I guess it was about time, they really can’t do much without her over there.”

Geralt just rolls his eyes. “That’s what she wants you to think.”

“Ohh, grumpy because she beat you at gwent.” Jaskier leans forward, kissing geralt’s nose and giggling when he scrunches it up.

“No.” Geralt frowns. “Maybe.”

“I always forget you’re a sore loser.” Jaskier smirks and Geralt bats at his shoulder lightly.

“Go to sleep.” He grunts.

“Hmm. What if I don’t want to? We have the night, and okay.” He yawns. “I’m tired, but not as bad as yesterday.” He wiggles out from underneath the blanket a little. Just his hand really to run it over Geralt’s bare chest. “Or are you too tired?”

Geralt is silent for a few seconds before he seems to sag. “Too tired.”

“Alright then my own.” Jaskier leans forward, kissing Geralt deeply. Making up for the times he wanted to that day but couldn’t and frees his other hand to hold Geralt’s face, thumbing over Geralt’s cheekbones as Geralt’s hand grips his hip. “Wanted to do this all day.” Jaskier whispers when they break apart before kissing again, and he enjoys taking his time licking into Geralt’s mouth, nipping at his lower lip and then soothing over it. Keeping it deep and wet until they’re both breathless.

“Love you.” Geralt doesn’t open his eyes, but he nuzzles into Jaskier’s touch before Jaskier pulls away, arm going around Geralt’s waist as the other goes to rest on Geralt’s chest.

“Love you.” Geralt mimics. He’s quiet then, eyes closed. And it gives Jaskier a chance to look over his face, mapping every freckle that had come up with the sun. And he would enjoy it, but there’s a tense set to his mouth that has Jaskier frowning.

It’s the one that means he’s thinking about something and isn’t sure whether he should talk about it or not and Jaskier can’t have that.

“Come on, you want to say something. Out with it.”

Geralt just sighs, opening his eyes only for them to flit over Jaskier’s face. “You smelt.” He pauses, looking for the right word and Jaskier doesn’t push it. “Odd. While you were playing. What happened?”

“Oh.” Of course Geralt picked up on that. “I uh, well. I got memories of flying and then that brought back memories of escaping but. I’ve been scared of flying for fucking years, i’m used to this terror at least.” He shrugs as best as he can as he’s practically swaddled in the blankets. “I can push it back for a while. It’s not bothering me as much as the other stuff is.”

“Jask.” Geralt makes a strangled sound and hugs Jaskier tighter, pulling him close. “Look.” He sighs. “Would a break somewhere help?”

Jaskier looks at him. “Possibly? But we need funds and if you don’t kill things regularly you get antsy-”

“We could head to the coast. Where you wanted to go before.”

Jaskier’s breath leaves his body as he gasps. Head never expected Geralt to even think about it, never mind ask him. And for a few seconds he’s speechless as the sheer turnaround of feelings and emotions. He’d never expected to be here in Geralt’s arms. And for a split second it makes everything seem worth it to be here. He knows it’s not. Because Geralt would hold him regardless of what happened, but the slight reprieve from the constant worry about what happened due to his shock is nice.

“I.” He chokes and then clears his throat. “I’de love to.”

“Okay.” Geralt smiles. Soft but wide. “We’ll plan our route tomorrow then.”

“In between planning the last minute going away party for Yennefer.” Jaskier says seriously and Geralt chuckles.

“We’ll see how she reacts to that.”

“Very well if there’s booze.”

“Hmm, you’re right there.” Geralt chuckles, and then once again falls quiet. Obviously as tired as he’s claimed but now his face is smooth of worry.

“Goodnight my love.” Jaskier places a kiss to his cheek and settles in for the night. Curled in Geralt’s arms. Already thinking about the plans for tomorrow.


End file.
